


Not as Simple as a Happy Ending

by PastelClark



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternatively Titled: 20-something years of Suffering feat. Sans, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Friends, Families of Choice, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Just the Sans Backstory to End all Sans Backstories honestly, Loss of Identity, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Graphic Violence, OCs out of minor characters, Platonic Relationships, Recovery, Sans-centric, Suicide Attempt, Time Loop, Time Skips, Worldbuilding, lore heavy, magical politics, non-fanon Interpretations of characters & backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 141,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5571245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelClark/pseuds/PastelClark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just a ribbon.</p><p>Just a plain red ribbon, absolutely nothing special about it.</p><p>At least, that’s what Sans tries to tell himself as Frisk stares up at him, their expectant look slowly morphing into confusion while he sits there frozen.</p><p>(Or, the story of the Underground as it was and as it will become, spanning thirteen years, various timelines, multitudes of lives, and one very tired skeleton that just wants <i>very</i> desperately to go home.</p><p> In which Frisk isn't the first human child Sans meets, nor the first he befriends, nor the first he kills—and being Sans in general is complicated as all fuck.)</p><p> <br/><em>Act 1: Your Best Friend (The Integrity of Promises) — Chapters 1-8</em><br/><em>Act 2: Two Monster Resistance — Chapters 9-</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: (3/30/16) As this fic gets longer and longer, to the point of veering wildly out of control, and is at an increasing rate building a steady follower count, I feel I need to update this introductory summary for people just coming in so they know what to expect, and don't mistakenly start reading this expecting something other than what this is.
> 
> As the title would imply, this fic is not what I'd call an explicitly happy one. I wouldn't consider it a full-time angst ride either, but that really depends on who you ask. Regardless, this fic does and will discuss a lot of heavy stuff, such as child abuse, depression, suicide, and the politics of killing an innocent person for the good of a group, and that's just Act 1 alone. There's quite a bit more I don't want to tag yet for spoiler reasons, but rest assured there's a _lot_. I try to be cautious and give warnings for my readers where I feel appropriate, but I'm not here to police your reading and if you choose not to read or ignore my notes, then I'm sorry but, if you read something you'd rather not, it's not my fault. This is me letting you know now the general tone handled for large sections of this fic, so please, if it's not a good idea for you to be reading this, find a fic with more suitable content. Of course, if you're unsure about some of the content or have questions, feel free to ask me over on my Tumblr, and I'll be sure to give you a prompt response.
> 
> This is a fic that deals with the darker parts of Undertale and is meant to at least serve partially as a backstory. It has a ridiculous amount of worldbuilding and shows the development of characters into their in-game versions of themselves over a number of years (I kid you not, this fic starts off chronologically when Sans is 12 and runs all the way through to the post-pacifist route future.). It does deal with some of the more problematic actions of some characters, and yes, sometimes you might not like the way they are portrayed here. I'm sorry about that, but this is... What it is. 
> 
> On top of all that, if you can get through all the shit, this is also a fic about friendships, families of choice, and love. And the things we'd do to save the people most important to us, no matter what the personal cost.
> 
> Please enjoy, and feel free to (and by that I mean please do) come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about this fic, Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.

It’s just a ribbon.

 

Just a plain red ribbon, absolutely nothing special about it.

 

At least, that’s what Sans tries to tell himself as Frisk stares up at him, their expectant look slowly morphing into confusion while he sits there frozen.

 

Well, not completely frozen, he notes, as he realizes with a sort of belated indifference that his hand is shaking, red tangled between his fingers in a tight grip.

 

It’s not even similar looking, really—shiny new velvet, soft and clean, with that faint smell of freshness all new clothing has. It’s likely come off a rack at some store the kid was at, one of a thousand of the same. There’s nothing about it that should stand out in the slightest.

 

Except the color—a bright, deep red that’s too familiar for words. He knows, in some rational corner of his mind, exactly where he is, who he’s with, and what he’s holding in his hand, but his vision flickers, and he’s instead looking down at another ribbon. It’s the same color, but the fabric is a thin cotton, frayed at the ends, stained by dirt and mud, and held together only by knots tied in odd places sloppily, but with care and love.

 

It’s a mess of a ribbon, but regardless it looks in place on top of a head of hair a shade of orangey-red he’ll later come to associate with the sunset, once monsters reach the surface. Years after he first sees the small face framed by the mess of gingery curls that the old ribbon can’t quite keep tied back neatly.

 

And it really is such a small face. So young. Too trusting when it looks up at him like he’s some kind of hero it can place its faith in.

 

Until it doesn’t, and all that’s left is a pale body splattered with blood that runs and stains orange curls the exact color as that same ribbon, now clenched between the fingers of a little boy as he hunches over a broken body and keens and screams for his sister with a kind of helpless grief that Sans knows well.

 

It reminds Sans all too much of the near hundreds of times he will kneel like this next to Papyrus’s dust, clutching his brother’s scarf to him in a desperate attempt to stem his shaking, his frame wracked with sobs, and occasionally a kind of desperate laughter, because for some stupid reason he dared to hope things would be different, no matter how many times the same result happens again and again.

 

He shouldn’t pity this boy, not when he knows what comes next. The death, the destruction—everything that comes as a possibility with each reset the boy brings about in a desperate attempt to reverse what can’t be undone.

 

But yet, he does feel pity. And when the boy looks up at him, murder in those dark eyes, he feels guilt, because this is _your fault, you let her die, you monster—_

 

“…Sans?”

 

He startles, and refocuses on Frisk standing in front of him, confusion now laced with concern as their eyes flicker between his face and the ribbon he has clenched in a death grip. Forcing his hand to relax as best he can, Sans meets their eyes carefully. They look so hesitant—not necessarily afraid, but definitely worried, and a little bit spooked.

 

It’s Frisk, he reminds himself firmly. This is Frisk, here with you now. You survived. Your brother and your friends survived. You are on the surface. This is the good timeline, and it’s real.

 

That still doesn’t stop a part of him from wondering when this will just turn into another nightmare, if this is the moment when Frisk’s eyes turn red, when they stop being themself and instead are the demon that he’s killed and has killed him so many times. After all, this is too good to be true. He’s a coward who’s run before and would run again, probably. And he’s still waiting, looking at Frisk—for red eyes, red-stained hair, the red of blood, and the red of the one human soul that made it out alive.

 

Sans waits for the punishment he deserves to come. For something, anything to rip away this timeline and send him back, because he of all people shouldn’t have gotten a new life above the Underground, especially when Frisk is still looking at him with concern, but trust in their eyes.

 

Don’t trust me, he wants to say. Don’t trust me. Everyone who does dies, whether in this timeline or another.

 

He feels a small hand touch his, and Sans flinches back on instinct, curling his hand with the ribbon close to his chest. Frisk pulls their own hand away quickly, and looks at him with hurt eyes. And…just...for God’s sake, he can’t do this right now. The kid doesn’t need to see him like this.

 

It’s just Frisk. It’s just a ribbon.

 

_All the kid wants is for you to tie the ribbon in their hair._

 

Pull yourself together, Sans. Don’t make Frisk see how messed up you really are. Just apologize, and put the damn ribbon in their hair.

 

He opens his mouth to do just that, but he can’t get a single sound out.

 

“Sans? Are you alright?”

 

The voice makes him flinch again, and he glances up at Asgore peering down at him, now standing behind a nervously shifting Frisk.

 

Ah, yes. He forgot Asgore was going to be here today, to spend time with Frisk. That’s probably why the kid had wanted the ribbon in their hair, anyways. They seem to have dubbed Asgore one of their favorite people, much to Toriel’s chagrin.

 

Asgore finally appears to notice the ribbon in his hand, and the way he startles fills Sans with a sort of guilty, vindictive satisfaction. If there’s one other person who should feel the strangling guilt and regret he does, maybe even more so than him, it should be Asgore. 

 

He shouldn’t be so petty. He gets along with Asgore well enough. They’re…friends, he supposes. In the same way everyone Frisk has adopted into their misshapen, makeshift family is.

 

That still doesn’t stop him from understanding why Toriel is so tense around Asgore, why she only allows him to step foot in her home because Frisk has decided they like him. Asgore may be a good person at heart, he may have done what he did for the good of monsterkind—in some warped, twisted way—but that doesn’t reverse broken bodies and stolen souls. Sans will be the first to admit himself a coward, but if he’s one, then Asgore is several times worse.

 

Finally, _finally_ , Sans feels the ribbon being yanked out of his hand, and it feels like he can breathe again. He collapses backwards onto the couch and watches distantly as Asgore hands the ribbon back to Frisk, and says something to them quietly. They look in concern at Sans once more, before nodding and backtracking out of the room, the now crumpled ribbon held carefully in their hands.

 

Sans closes his eyes and dips his head back against the sofa pillow as he feels Asgore sit next to him, and wishes dully that he could just have been left alone, at least for a bit.

 

“Are you alright?” Asgore asks him, and Sans can’t help the dry, hollow laugh he gives in return.

 

“ _Sans_ ational.” The pun tastes bitter as he says it, and is without any of the usual humorous inflection he gives it.

 

He feels more than hears Asgore hesitate next to him, and opens his eyes as he turns to face the floundering King of Monsters, stuck in trying to find the right words of…what? Comfort? Pity? Something.

 

Sans sighs and shakes his head when Asgore finally goes to speak. “Don’t. Just…don’t. I’m not exactly in a good frame of mind right now, if you can’t tell, and I’d rather not say something I’ll regret and risk upsetting Frisk.”

 

Asgore pauses, and then ploughs on regardless. “I’m sorry—“

 

“Sorry doesn’t reverse it, does it?” Sans snaps. “At the end of the day, she’s dead. They’re all dead. They still don’t get a second chance like the rest of us. I still had to watch them die, I still had to watch my mentor literally destroy himself trying to find a way to stop what you started, and I still—“ He cuts himself off. “Nevermind, just…go spend time with Frisk, alright? I don’t want to do the whole heart-to-heart about everything. I never will. Offer it to Tori instead. Maybe if you two got everything out, and she had a proper chance to yell at you, it’d stop the god-awful tension we all feel when you two are in a room together.”

 

Asgore’s face crumples, and yeah, okay, Sans will admit that was a low blow even for him. He thinks about apologizing, but Asgore’s already standing up and leaving the room, so instead Sans lets his head fall back once again, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about it, any of it.

 

He tries not to think of odd-colored eyes and broken bodies, trusting faces and spears through chests, rage, and resets, and guns pressed to heads. He tries not to think about unfixable machines and a void of space where the closest thing he ever had to a parental figure vanished like he never existed. He tries not to think about dust everywhere, and the not-Frisk with demon eyes and a doll-like smile.

 

He tries.

 

He doesn’t succeed.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sometimes Sans wonders how this is the best end result, the very best option of the timelines. It’s arguably what might be called the _good ending,_ he supposes, except that aside from maybe calling it, this, the end of the darkness of the Underground, this isn’t an ending, really. It’s a beginning, if anything else. A new opportunity at life.

 

Or a second-chance of sorts, for those of them that let the darkness of the Underground warp them into doing things they should not have in order to even have a chance at escaping to the surface. Taking life, warping it, bringing it back—hell, creating it, if that damn flower really is the end result of Alphy’s experiments. _Playing God_ is the phrase the humans would use, he thinks.

 

Sometimes Sans thinks they should start a club, those few of them who have seen the impossible and done things they shouldn’t. Himself, Alphys, Asgore, Frisk…even Toriel, probably. There’s no doubt that she’s been through some crap...stuff she saw, possibly even did—not like he has a clue—back when she was Queen, or when she spent those decades in the Ruins, her only company the few monsters who lived there and the human children that passed through on their way to their deaths.

 

Regardless, everyone’s haunted in their own ways by the Underground, whether they deserve it or not. He sees it in the way Papyrus sometimes goes still, breathing turning erratic as, if only for a second, he sees the timelines he, thankfully, can’t remember. He sees it in the way Undyne sometimes tenses and reaches for a spear she no longer keeps at her side, her eyes trained on Frisk as if she can remember the demon in Frisk’s body that cut her down again and again, on its way to destroy the world. He even sees it in Mettaton, on the rare occasion he actually lets his mask of bravado come down and acts like a real person, in the way the robot sometimes stares at the sunlight like he can’t believe it’s real, or looks at his own body like he expects it to collapse under him.

 

None of them remember, luckily. Sans knows this for a fact. They’ve got lingering impressions from the other timelines, ones that have created certain nuances or instincts, but they don’t remember. Which is fair, Sans thinks. None of them deserve to be burdened with that—not even Mettaton, who, despite, Undyne’s claims to the contrary, he actually gets along pretty well with when Mettaton stops acting like a tv-drama tool. They’re both, at least in part, sort-of snarky assholes at heart, which…doesn’t actually make for the worst friendship.

 

Sans isn’t sure how much Alphys remembers. As far as he can tell, she doesn’t have an explicit memory of the timelines, at least not anymore so than Papyrus or Undyne, but she spent enough time around himself and Gaster that, even if they kept the majority of their experiments with the timelines secret, she must have had some idea of what was going on. Knowledge of the timelines isn’t enough to always prompt memory, but it can be.

 

He doesn’t think she remembers, and hopes he’s right about that. She’s already got enough ghosts clinging to her, with the way she still flinches when someone mentions the determination experiments, the way she still can’t look at golden flowers without getting this sad look on her face. She’s definitely made some mistakes, but Sans can’t help but wonder how many of those problems, with her insecurities, with her loneliness, with all her fears, and all the pressure that was pushed onto her and forced her into the determination experiments, could have been prevented if she hadn’t been alone, if he hadn’t abandoned her and run when the accident had happened.

 

Just another sin of his to add to the tally in the end, he supposes.

 

Toriel doesn’t remember, either, which Sans is glad for. She’s one of the kindest people he’s ever met, and—excluding his brother—could be considered his closest friend. Besides, she’s already got enough to deal with. She doesn’t like talking about it either, but Sans can see it in the way she sometimes looks at Frisk like they’re a ghost, about to disappear forever. She blames herself—for the deaths of her children, and for not doing enough to stop the human kids from leaving the Ruins.

 

It’s not her fault, none of it is. Sans didn’t protect them enough, the ones he found at the Ruins door. First out of weakness, then out of fear. Asgore killed them, or he let his guards do the dirty work. Same difference.

 

Asgore is, as well, something of a mystery. From what little Sans could get out of Frisk, it appears he could count the number of times he killed them when the two fought, but that isn’t evidence of understanding the nature of timelines, or even their existence. Sans thinks maybe he has some memory of the other timelines, but possibly only what extends to the particular periods of time when he fought the humans, killed them. He doesn’t really know, and frankly he’s sort of past the point of caring. Sans doesn’t wish his own memories upon anyone, no matter what that small, selfish part of him that believes Asgore deserves this at least as much as himself says.

 

Which leaves him and Frisk.

 

…And the flower and the not-Frisk, but Sans isn’t really counting them.

 

Frisk remembers everything. Every timeline they went through, both the ones where they had no control over their own body, and the ones where they had to fight for it. It makes Sans sick, that the kid is stuck remembering everything that demon put them through, everything their body did without their consent.

 

The guilt eats away at them everyday. He knows, they’ve told him, on their quiet conversations on the rooftop in the early morning. It’s the one exception Sans makes to his little ‘no talking about it’ rule. Just because he doesn’t want to talk about the shit that he’s seen and done doesn’t mean it’s fair to force that arguably unhealthy way of coping onto the kid. And who else are they going to talk to? Sans is the only person who gets it, who remembers. The kid, or at least the kid’s body, has killed him, he killed them in return, and they both remember it. It makes for an odd friendship, but Sans supposes that as the only two with any real clue what happened, they’ve got to stick together.

 

His own memory is…sporadic, to say the least. Sometimes he remembers the gaps and repeats perfectly, sometimes not at all. Often he won’t remember what went down in a previous timeline unless he leaves himself some reminder, a note scribbled in a language that’s now dead to everyone barring him, left in the one room he’s managed to preserve between timelines. Reloads of saves that are close in time to what the previous present was are almost impossible for him to differentiate. He still doesn’t know how exactly how many times he gave Frisk the same speech about judgment, or exactly the number of time he’s done any given thing.

 

Time, for him, is messy and complicated, and leaves him feeling much older than he physically is.

 

Usually, he’s got a pretty good memory with resets, at least ones caused by a human. A lot of the resets caused by the flower are…hazy. There are some things he remembers, some things he doesn’t, and some things he’s blocked out. He’ll never have a complete picture of those years when that thing wreaked havoc, and he’s slowly come to be okay with that. It befriended everyone sometimes, and killed everyone sometimes. He’s killed it on more than a few occasions, and in retaliation it’s tortured him to death more times than he can count. It played with all of them like they were toys for its amusement, and that’s all he needs to pass judgment on it.

 

And no, he doesn’t care where it came from or who it might have been before, no matter what Frisk has hinted at and his own gut tells him is the likely truth. It still killed his brother, his friends, of its own volition again and again, for nothing.

 

He doesn’t pity it.

 

He doesn’t.

 

At least…not that much.

 


	2. It Came From The Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Sans meets a human, he’s just a kid.

The first time Sans meets a human, he’s just a kid.

 

_(He’s not sure now exactly how old he was. Time worked differently in the Underground, and the way humans measure age is fairly different from monsters, since different kinds of monsters have varying age spans—never mind the fact that, for himself and Papyrus, a lot of the regular rules don’t apply. Regardless, he’s pretty sure it was only a couple years or so, around that, since he and his brother had washed up on the banks of one of the rivers that ran through Waterfall, in the same place all the human junk from the surface ends up, which made him fairly young.)_

 

He’s out in the forests beyond Snowdin, near the entrance to the Ruins, scavenging for things he can take and sell to the Temmies for a bit of extra money. Papyrus needs a new jacket, and he doesn’t have enough to buy a good one yet. At least, that’s his excuse for being out here. There are arguably better places to go scavenging than here—the lower pools of Waterfall, for one, which is his regular spot. Or, if he really was trying to make good money, he could go to Snowdin for the day. The owners of the town’s single bar/diner are always happy to offer him a bit of money in exchange for helping their son with the odd jobs around the place.

 

But, it’s one of the rare days Sans doesn’t have Papyrus with him. Gerson’s always happy to watch his little brother for the day, which Sans is grateful for, though he doesn’t often take him up on that offer, since he prefers to keep Papyrus close by, where he can keep an eye on him. Sometimes though, he needs a break, and often those are the days where he finds himself on the edges of the forest.

 

He likes it here, this quiet, snowy place. Close to the Ruins door, it’s pretty much deserted. The few monsters that choose to live in the forest generally stay away from this part, and so the only other people around are the occasional sentries or guards wandering by.

 

Mostly though, it’s just Sans on his own. Which is how he likes it. The snow and trees feel familiar in a way he can’t describe, like he might have known something similar a long time ago, and just can’t remember where or why.

 

It’s a cold, bleak area, almost devoid of life. But, it’s Sans's special place, where he can be alone.

 

Or at least it is, until the Ruins door opens right in front of where he’s been sitting and sketching…something, he thinks they might be stars, into the snow with a spare twig.

 

He looks up, and meets eyes with the creature standing in front of him. It’s thin, and taller than him, though not by more than a few inches or so. With jet-black hair that hangs around its shoulders and covers part of its face, leaving only one dark eye exposed, which is looking at him with the same surprise he feels. It’s wearing a thin sweater, and shorts over what he thinks are probably tights, with a pair of large boots. It’s got a pair of pink shoes hanging off its neck by a pair of long ribbons that have been tied together, and it’s holding a backpack with something pink and frilly sticking out of it.

 

He stares at it, and it at him, and then they both scream and fall backwards in a sudden rush to get away from the other.

 

Sans hears the Ruins door slam shut, and scrambles to his feet, shaking the snow off his jacket, as the door opens again, slowly this time, as the creature peers almost hesitantly around the side of it at him.

 

“Holy shit…” He hears a quiet voice whisper. “It really is a skeleton, _holy shit._ ”

 

“Shit’s a rude word,” he says, more out of instinct from being around Papyrus than any particular sensitivity of his own.

 

The creature—no…human, the more he looks the more he’s sure, somehow, despite never having seen one as far as he can remember, giggles, and opens the door more fully, staring at him with careful disbelief.

 

Sans is sure his face mirrors the same disbelief as the other. He’s never seen a human before—to him they’re mostly the stuff of myth and legend, dangerous and violent in Gerson’s stories when he gets in the mood to ramble about his youth as a warrior on the surface. But this human doesn’t look dangerous at all, compared to the images of Gerson’s rants and the tall tales some of the adults like to pass around at the local bar when they run out of recent gossip to share. Admittedly, aside from Gerson, most of them don’t have much of an idea of exactly what a human looks like, but still…it…they? They look like a kid, he thinks. They’re probably about the same age as him, maybe just a little bit older, if he had to guess.

 

He offers them a tentative wave, and they take a small step forward.

 

They still look cautious, which bothers him. He doesn’t know why, maybe out of instinct from comforting Papyrus, who’s always afraid when he pretends not to be, or simply because he knows somewhere, deep in his bones, that the human isn’t going to hurt him. Regardless, he cracks one of his trademark grins and does what he knows best.

 

“Don’t look so worried, I’m not anything _tibia_ afraid of.”

 

They blink at him, just once, then double over in laughter, clutching their side with one hand, and using the other to cover their mouth in an attempt to halt the noise.

 

He wonders why they’d do that. Laughter is the good response to a joke, much better than silence, or worse, booing, and they seem to have a nice smile, from what he could tell, before they covered it up.

 

Still, the joke seems to have done its trick, because when they straighten up, their cheeks now red from laughing, they seem much more at ease, their posture more relaxed.

 

“…That was possibly the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

 

He shrugs amiably. “Hey, they can’t all be winners. Besides, you still laughed, so I’d call it a win.”

 

They snort, and shake their head. “It’s hard not to laugh at a talking skeleton making bone puns. That still doesn’t mean the joke was particularly good.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Hey, honesty is important.” They’re smiling though, when they gesture easily at the doorway behind them. “And here I thought her jokes were bad.”

 

He tilts his head slightly in curiosity. “Her?”

 

“The monster living in the ruins. She…oh.” They hesitate, then turn and push shut the door behind them, running a hand over the wood with a closed expression. “She looks after humans that fall down here, I think. I’m not sure. It’s a long story, but…yeah, she’s nice, even if her jokes are bad.”

 

Sans just nods, guessing that, from the way they’re acting, they probably don’t want to talk about whatever the _long story_ is.

 

“But that’s what you are, right? A human?”

 

They grin, straightening up slightly and slinging the backpack they’re holding over their shoulder, before placing their hands on their hips. “Yup. Human, one-hundred percent certified.”

 

He mentally pats himself on the back. So he was right about that one. “Wow. Weird.”

 

“Hey!” They make a face and stick their tongue out at him. “You’re the talking skeleton. You’re the weird one.”

 

“Nuh-uh. Not down here, I’m not," he says. Which…isn’t entirely correct. He doesn’t think skeletons are exactly common among monsters, but still, he’s definitely more normal by the standards around here than a human.

 

“So you’re—wait…girl? Boy? Neither?” He frowns. “Or do humans not—“

 

“Girl.” They say decisively. Ah, they’re technically a _she,_ then, he supposes.

 

“I guess that answers the question of whether or not skeletons have genders,” she says. “So you’re probably a…” She hesitates, looking him over once again.

 

“Boy,” he says, and she nods. “I’m Sans.” And then, just for the hell of it, he adds, “Sans the skeleton.”

 

She downright cackles, hunching over again, and when she straightens up again, she sticks out her hand with a grin. “I’m—

 

_(She told him her name. He knows she did. But it’s gone, like a blank slate, an empty spot that weighs on his mind. Gaster said the same thing happened to him with the human he knew, something to do with a side effect of being what he called a ‘lost soul'.)_

 

He shakes her hand.

 

“So, if you’re a human, you must be from the Surface, right?” She nods. “What’s it like? How blue is the sky? What do…” His voice falls to a hush. “What do stars look like?”

 

She laughs slightly, but not in a mean way. “It’s…I don’t know how to describe it. I guess it’s just the sky to me, and stars are kinda…sparkly, I guess.” She shrugs. “It’s okay. Nothing compared to this place, though.”

 

He blinks. “Really? All the adults talk about is how amazing the Surface is supposed to be.” Not that most of them would know. There’s very few monsters left that saw the war. Excluding the King, Gerson is the only one Sans knows of, though there’s probably a few more.

 

She crinkles her nose. “Well, I mean, I suppose if you don’t see all that stuff regularly, you might think that way. But—“ She breaks off, looking down, and playing with the straps of her backpack. “There’s a lot of bad stuff on the surface, as well. Monsters are…well, even the couple of monsters that tried to pick fights with me have turned out to be pretty nice, nicer than some of the humans I’ve...yeah.”

 

Sans can’t help but fidget nervously. She looks sad, and he wants to say something to make her feel better, like he does when Papyrus has a bad dream, but he gets the feeling that this has something to do with the long story he’d already resolved not to press her on, and so he has no idea what to say.

 

“Anyways…” She shakes her head slightly, and looks up. “This place is like a fairytale, compared to the surface. I mean, I always thought Monsters and the Underground might just be a story, or something. But…” She grins. “It’s real, all of it. And it’s—it’s beautiful. The Ruins are _so beautiful_.” Her eyes are shining, and Sans grins, because he supposes, to a human, all this must seem as impossible as the stars are to him.

 

“Well I dunno much about the Ruins,” he says. “But the forest is pretty cool, in my opinion.”

 

She looks around, and frowns. “It is. Though I’m not sure how it’s managing to snow down here.”

 

Sans shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Magic, probably.”

 

“Oh, magic!” Her eyes are bright again, and she grabs his arm excitedly. “She—the monster in the ruins—she could do magic! It was amazing, she scared these monsters that were bothering me away with this pink fire, I’ve never seen anything like it! Can you do that?”

 

He raises an eyebrow. Well, his equivalent of raising an eyebrow. Sans isn’t completely sure how his own anatomy works with some things, and his general modus operandi is just to ignore thinking about it too much.

 

“Pink fire? No.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Well, not that necessarily. Any type of magic.”

 

Oh. Sans shrugs off her hand and makes a point of not looking at her expectant face as he contemplates his answer.

 

“…No,” he settles on. “No I can’t. At least, not the kind you’re talking about.”

 

Does it count as a lie if he tells everyone the same thing?

 

She looks disappointed, so Sans quickly changes direction on the line of questioning. “Do humans not have magic?”

 

The girl shakes her head. “No. Well, there are stories about humans who could, like the ones who sealed monsters underground in the stories and stuff. Magicians, in the stories, but they just call them Witches now...but they’re just myths.”

 

Sans feels like that’s off, somehow, even though he doesn’t think she’s lying to him. He mentally pushes it aside though, when the human suddenly lets loose a giant shiver, a small flurry of snow that had settled in her hair drifting off. “You’re really not dressed for this kinda weather, are you?”

 

She glares at him. “It’s spring on the surface. _Late_ spring.”

 

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. But that’s not gonna do you much good down here.”

 

She’s still shivering. Sans contemplates lending her his coat, but it’s already big on him, the sleeves rolled up several times and one of the shoulders always slipping off. The human may be taller, but she’s a lot slimmer than him, like Papyrus. His coat would probably just fall right off her.

 

Then her stomach growls, loudly, and her face turns pink in embarrassment.

 

“Ok,” he says, grinning. “So new plan. Food might be a good idea. There’s a place in town that’s heated and everything, and the people who run it are pretty good to any kids that wander in, even if they track in snow.” She hesitates. “Unless you had a particular place you wanted to go? I know a shortcut to the castle, if you were trying to get back up to the Surface—”

 

“No!” she shouts, startling him. “No. I, uh, I was just trying to get out of the Ruins. I don’t have anywhere to…I mean, food would be good.”

 

She avoids his eyes as she readjusts her backpack, walking past him in the direction of the trail that leads through the forest. He looks back for a second, at the now closed door to the Ruins, and at his half-finished drawings in the snow, before following after her.

 

He tries to ignore the words she just said. What he knew, with the instinct of someone who had lived those words, she was going to say.

 

_I don’t have anywhere to go._

 

xxx

 

 

Grillby’s bar is a burst of noise and heat when Sans opens it, breaking what had been, aside from the occasional question about the Surface or the Underground, the comfortable silence he and the human had shared as they walked through the forest and into town.

 

The human looks shell-shocked at the large number of full-grown monsters, probably quite a bit more intimidating than Sans, that fill the room. They hadn’t run into any other monsters on the walk there, and the sentries had been noticeably absent, taking one of their _group mental health days,_ Sans guesses, noting all four of them are perched at their usual table in the corner, and so that means that these are the first monsters outside of the Ruins the human has seen, excluding himself.

 

Sans doesn't know what sort of monsters live in the Ruins, but as the horde of different monsters look up to see who has walked in, he supposes he can see how it might be a little scary to someone unfamiliar with them.

 

_(He’d certainly felt scared, those first few times meeting monsters, when he’d wandered out of the lower pools of Waterfall where he’d woken up, clutching the smaller hand of a still groggy Papyrus as they stumbled along unfamiliar ground.)_

The human shies closer to him, fiddling with her hands nervously, and he turns to offer her the most reassuring smile he can muster. She relaxes slightly, and—

**_“Which idiot’s left the door open for all the cold to get in again?!”_ **

 

—ducks behind him when the kitchen door flies open with a slam. Sans winces, and tries to turn around to shut the door, but can’t move with the way the human is now clinging to him, shaking with fear as her eyes follow the monster walking towards them. Sans feels the flare of heat as the monster stops in front of him, reaching over his head to close the door. He winces at the sound of it slamming shut, and then turns with trepidation to face his potential death.

 

“Hi, Mrs. B.”

 

Some people new to Grillby’s bar make the mistake of thinking the one they don’t want to piss off is the man himself, with his stern expression and imposing figure, but compared to his wife, he’s a harmless daisy. It’s a generally acknowledged fact around Snowdin that the one really calling the shots at Grillby’s is Ignis, whether it’s her husband’s name on the bar sign or not.

 

“Sans.” The fire monster glares down at him, her checkered shirt and embroidered apron doing nothing to minimize her intimidating figure as she stood over him. **“ _How many times have I told you about_** **_closing the door when you come in?”_**

 

Sans winces, and offers his most polite and charming smile in hopes of appeasing her. “Many times. Sorry.”

 

She humphs, but relaxes her posture and lowers the intensity of her glare to her more usual resting one. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you or little Papyrus all week, we were getting worried.”

 

Her husband snorts from his position behind the bar, and Ignis whips around to fix him with a stern look, turning back just in time for Sans to quickly stifle his own laughter and get an appropriately respectful look back on his face. The other thing generally acknowledged about Ignis, aside from her being terrifying, is that she is essentially a mother at heart to every child that wanders into her diner.

 

…Even if her style of pseudo-parenting is one that involves a lot of half-hearted glaring and grumbling about ungrateful kids that never come by to visit her. Or, in Sans's case, bring his brother around enough. Not that Sans can blame her for that complaint, Papyrus is the best kid around.

 

Ignis raises an eyebrow pointedly at him, and Sans grins nervously. “Sorry, Mrs. B. Been pretty busy with, uh, stuff. Haven’t had time to drop by the last couple days. Paps says hi, though.”

 

She makes another noise of dissatisfaction, leaning down to poke him gently in the chest. “That’s no excuse, and you know it. Besides, you’d be far better to spend every day here. Goodness knows the work here is much easier and safer than whatever else it is you do when you disappear.” Sans looks to the side guiltily at her words. He knows if Ignis knew exactly what it was he does every day and where he and Papyrus are really living, she’d insist on helping them, which is exactly why he’s made the point to be evasive about it in the past, to the point where she’s learned not to press the issue at risk of him clamming up and avoiding Snowdin as a whole for a couple weeks.

 

Ignis and her husband already do so much for him, with no obligation to do so. Asking for more help would just be wrong.

 

Sans can look after himself.

 

…And Papyrus.

 

Papyrus is his responsibility.

 

Sans is pulled out of his thoughts when Ignis peers past him, and he feels the human tighten her grip on his coat, still hiding behind him.

 

“Hmm. Back after disappearing for near a week, and you end up bringing in a new face, Sans,” Ignis says. “I’ve certainly never seen a child like you running around before. Are you new to the area, dear? Just moved in?”

 

“I...” The human shifts nervously. “Something like that. Um, sorry about the door, uh…ma’am.”

 

Ignis nods her head in approval. “Good, a polite child. You don’t see one of those every day. Perhaps you can teach some manners to Sans. He needs more friends his own age, anyways.”

 

Sans just sighs miserably as Ignis gives him one last firm glare before ushering both him and the human further into the room. “Go and sit down, and I’ll get you both something to eat. Neither of you looks like you’ve eaten properly in days.” She shakes her head. “I swear, you kids with your aversion to making sure you feed yourselves will be the death of me someday.” Once she’s forced them both into seats at the one empty table, she nods, and then turns around, fixing a glare in the direction of the kitchen.

 

**“ _Jr.! Sans is here! Come out and socialize.”_**

 

Sans grins when his friend slowly marches out with an expression reminiscent of a man walking to the gallows, passing his mother on her way back to the kitchen. As soon as Grillby sits down next to him, Sans slings an arm around his shoulder, much to his obvious displeasure.

 

“Hey _, Jr._ ”

 

Grillby sighs and sends him a firm glare, an expression Sans has learned means _don’t call me that_.

 

The human ignores them, distracted with rubbing her hands together in an attempt to regain the warmth the wind outside stole from her fingers. Grillby looks pointedly at the girl sitting across from them, and raises an eyebrow. The message is clear. _Who’s that?_

“New friend.” He says. “B, meet—

 

_(He said her name. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it…but he can’t remember.)_

 

Grillby nods at the human, and Sans grins. “And this grumpy-pants is Grillby. Make sure not to call him Jr. if you value anything that’s flammable. I only get away with it because his mom loves me.”

 

Grillby mutters something under his breath about it being more about Sans’s ability to do the numbers for the diner’s budgeting more efficiently than his parents, and Sans elbows him in the side in response.

 

The human relaxes slightly at their easy interaction and nods her head in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Sans hears Grillby ask the human a quiet question about where she's from, and he thinks she says the Ruins, but his focus is no longer on the two, his eyes instead sweeping over the rest of the room, assessing. The lull in conversation when he and the human had walked in had been expected, that’s not what bothers him—what bothers him is that the noise hasn’t picked back up since. At least, not to the same level it was when he entered. His eyes fall on the mixed group of sentries and royal guards perched at their table in the corner. They’re staring at them, or more specifically, staring at the girl. Sans’s nonexistent stomach lurches as he notes their suspicious gazes and quiet mutterings to one another. One of the sentries pulls out a small book, the guidebook given to all sentries, if he remembers correctly, and peers down at it, before sliding it over to one of the royal guards, who inspects it with the same scrutiny, before looking up at the human again.

 

Sans suddenly feels, with a sort of sinking dread, that there’s something he’s forgotten…something about humans…and the King.

 

It suddenly occurs to him that while he knows that it’s the job of sentries to watch for dangerous things and provide assistance to civilians when there’s no guards to do so, he has no idea exactly what the _primary target_ they’re always talking about is.

 

He startles when Ignis, who’s reappeared from the kitchen with plates of hot food, sets one down in front of him with a clatter, before turning to the girl across from him and inspecting her wet hair with a grimace, grumbling something about children that don’t wear warm-enough clothing.

 

“Uh, Mrs. B,” he asks, cutting her off as he manages to tear his eyes from the group of guards. “Quick question.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What’s…” God, he hopes his worry isn’t visible on his face. “What’s, um, the policy on humans that end up in the Underground? I forget.”

 

Paranoid, he’s just being a paranoid idiot.

 

She blinks in confusion. “Well, a sentry or guard is meant to capture them and escort them to King Asgore so that he can retrieve their soul, if possible. Otherwise, the human’s soul may be taken by force by a guard if necessary, and then brought to Asgore. Though…” She purses her lips in thought. “That hasn’t happened in quite a few years. The last time a human passed through I was just a child myself. Almost no one saw them, it was quite the secretive affair.” She pauses. “Still, I’m surprised you don’t know that, Sans.”

 

…Or maybe not.

 

He laughs nervously. “You know me, Mrs. B. I remember everything except the important stuff.”

 

Actually, thinking back, he’s pretty sure Gerson had mentioned something about a plan of Asgore’s to break the barrier using humans a few months ago, amidst one of his stories of the glory days, but he’d tuned most of it out, too focused on making sure the mittens he’d just traded for fit Papyrus properly.

 

Vaguely, he notes Ignis saying something and wandering away, but his focus is on the human sitting across from him, now ashen and trembling.

 

“Ok,” he mutters quietly, ignoring the confused look Grillby shoots him, keeping his attention on the human. “See that group of monsters in the corner? Don’t look at them directly. Use the edge of your vision, note their position.” She nods rigidly. “Those are sentries and Royal Guards.” Her face turns even paler. “Don’t panic,” he adds, trying not to panic himself. “I need you to listen to me.”

 

He could turn her in, he knows. He could wipe his hands of this whole mess. He just met her, barely knows her. He has no obligation to help her, really. She’s a human, everyone knows humans are supposed to be violent and selfish animals.

 

But she just looks so scared.

 

She hasn’t done anything to hurt anyone.

 

She’s just a kid. Like him, like his brother.

 

“We’re going to get up and leave, slowly. As casual as possible, alright?” Another nod. “Right…go.”

 

The human stands slowly, and he does the same, casting a quick look at Grillby, who’s eyes flicker between the two of them, before focusing on the human, realization dawning on his face. Carefully, Sans edges around the table, doing his best to fake nonchalance as he leans up slightly, and slings an arm around the human’s shoulders. Nodding once to Grillby, who nods back, a promise of his own silence, Sans steers the human around the other tables and towards the door of the bar.

 

They’re nearly there when he hears a yell from one of the guards as they suddenly all jump to their feet, crashing into each other in their haste.

 

“Shit,” he mumbles, then pulls the human through the door, ignoring the sound of it slamming shut behind him as he grabs the end of her sweater sleeve and begins dragging her down the street.

 

“C’mon, c’mon. Run!”

 

She startles, as if waking up, and then breaks into a sprint just as the bar door slams open, the guards and sentries tumbling over one another in a pile of yells and barks. They run down the town’s main road, dodging around monsters that stare at them, and the pack of guards giving chase, with the utmost confusion.

 

Sans contemplates taking the north road up to the river, but there’s no guarantee the riverperson will be there, which means the risk of trapping themselves in a dead end. There are alleys that they could duck into to hide, but while that might fool the sentries, there’s a reason a good half of the Royal Guard is comprised of dogs. Their sense of smell makes hiding almost impossible. At least, that’s the case in an area they’re familiar with.

 

The only place they might have a chance to lose the guards is somewhere where they have the upper ground, somewhere that the dogs will be less familiar with, and Sans knows like the back of his hand.

 

He drags the human down the path to Waterfall.

 

…They almost make it.

 

And then, right at the end of town, where the snow and wind are always thick, the place they might be able to disappear, the human goes to dodge one last confused citizen, and slips on a patch of ice. Her feet go out from under her, and Sans’s grip on her sleeve pulls him down too.

 

His skull hits the ground with a sharp crack, and then everything is pain. When he manages to push himself onto his elbow from where he’s lying on the ground, head pounding, he’s greeted with the blurry sight of the human lying on her side, blood sticking to the side of her face that was cut by the ice when she hit it. She whimpers, curling in on herself, and Sans notices groggily that her ankle is turned at an odd angle.

 

There’s an excited shout from the guards, and then a spear flies at them. Sans watches in numb confusion as the magic of the spear, the same magic infused in every royal guard’s spear, pulls the human’s soul into visibility, before it slams through it, and then across the human’s side, burying itself in the ice behind her. Her soul flares wildly, and then flickers, and she screams in pain.

 

Scrambling over to her the best he can on all fours, attempting to shield her from any more potential attacks, he places a hand on her side carefully, eyes widening when his hand comes away smeared with blood.

 

“No, no, no, no, _no._ ” He takes her face in his hands, pleading with her as he watches the life drain out of her eyes. “No. Hey, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes, you can’t—“

 

The human’s eyes fall shut, and the world around Sans flickers.

 

...And then everything goes black.

 

 

\\\\\\\\\

 

 

Sans is out in the forests beyond Snowdin, near the entrance to the Ruins, scavenging for things he can take and sell to the Temmies for a bit of extra money. Papyrus needs a new jacket, and he doesn’t have enough to buy a good one yet. At least, that’s his excuse for being out here. There are arguably better places to go scavenging than here—the lower pools of Waterfall, for one, which is his regular spot. Or, if he really was trying to make good money, he could go to Snowdin for the day, the owners of the town’s single bar/diner are always happy to offer him a bit of money in exchange for helping their son with the odd jobs around the place.

 

But, it’s one of the rare days Sans doesn’t have Papyrus with him. Gerson’s always happy to watch his little brother for the day, which Sans is grateful for, though he doesn’t often take him up on that offer, since he prefers to keep Papyrus close by, where he can keep an eye on him. Sometimes though, he needs a break, and often those are the days where he finds himself on the edges of the forest.

 

He likes it here, this quiet, snowy place. Close to the Ruins door, it’s pretty much deserted. Most monsters that choose to live in the forest generally stay away from this part, and so the only other people around are the occasional sentries wandering by.

 

Mostly though, it’s just Sans on his own. Which is how he likes it. The snow and trees feel familiar in a way he can’t describe, like he might have known something similar a long time ago, and just can’t remember where or why.

 

It’s a cold, bleak area, almost devoid of life, but it’s Sans's special place, where he can be alone.

 

He’s sitting in front of the Ruins door, sketching…something, he thinks they might be stars, into the snow with a spare twig.

 

_…stars are kinda…sparkly, I guess._

 

He stops. Blinks. Studies his half-finished drawings.

 

He feels like he’s already done this.

 

Like something is wrong, very wrong.

 

Sans looks up at the Ruins door.

 

_This place is like a fairytale, compared to the surface._

 

He shakes his head, looking back down at his drawings.

 

And then the Ruins door opens, and a creature peers out around the corner.

 

The creature is familiar looking, despite Sans knowing he hasn’t met it before, with pale skin, and dark hair that falls like a black curtain in front of half of its face. It’s wearing a light brown sweater, one Sans knows is too thin for this weather.

 

…How does he know that?

 

It’s trembling, and the eye not covered by its hair is red-rimmed, like its been crying.

 

“…Sans?” It whispers.

 

Sans shivers.

 

Yes, something is definitely very wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	3. Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you… Do you remember me?”
> 
>  
> 
> Sans takes another step back, because his skull is still aching with phantom pain and echoed voices that he can’t understand, and the closer that thing gets the worse his head hurts. 
> 
>  
> 
> “S-stay back.”

The creature is familiar looking, despite Sans knowing he hasn’t met it before, with pale skin, and dark hair that falls like a black curtain in front of half of its face. It’s wearing a light brown sweater, one Sans knows is too thin for this weather.

 

…How does he know that?

 

It’s trembling, and the eye not covered by its hair is red-rimmed, like it’s been crying.

 

“…Sans?” It whispers.

 

Sans shivers.

 

Yes, something is definitely very wrong.

 

The creature pushes the door more fully open, and takes a hesitant step forward. In an instant, Sans is on his feet and two steps back, his head suddenly pounding with an onslaught of _bad bad wrong bad._ The creature flinches back as well, before carefully taking another step forward.

 

“Do you…do you remember me?”

 

Sans takes another step back, because his skull is still aching with phantom pain and echoed voices that he can’t understand, and the closer that thing gets the worse his head hurts. “S-stay back.”

 

It freezes, then looks him over carefully, offering a shaky smile. “Hey, I’m not anything _tibia_ afraid of.”

 

Sans stops, frozen.

_It’s hard not to laugh at a talking skeleton making bone puns. That still doesn’t mean the joke was particularly good._

Another wave of pain hits his skull, this time more controlled, right on the spot where he…

 

Where he hit it on the ice.

 

Sans stares at the figure across from him. “You’re…you’re a human, right?” It... she opens her mouth to respond, and he shakes his head. “You…you ran away from the Ruins. I took you to Grillby’s. There were guards…”

 

She takes a deep breath, before walking forward resolutely, stopping in front of him. “Yes. You tried to help me escape. Do you remember?”

 

Sans blinks uncomprehendingly, and she offers him a tentative smile. She has a nice smile, he remembers that.

 

He remembers.

 

Sans breaths out once, eyes falling to the familiar looking pink shoes hanging around her neck.

 

…And then it clicks.

 

“Yes.”

 

She lets out a sound that’s a mix between a sob and a wail, throwing her arms around him in a crushingly tight hug. She’s shaking, but, as Sans wraps his arms around her in return and buries his face in her shoulder, he realizes he’s shaking too. She’s alive, breathing heavily in between her tears, and this is real, somehow. But all Sans can see when he closes his eyes is blood, her blood, spilling out onto the ice.

 

“I don’t understand. You…you died.”

 

The human gives another sob, her shivering and shaking becoming even worse at the reminder. “I don’t know what happened. I remember dying and then…just waking up back in the Ruins again. Right where I was when I first fell. She didn’t…” Her voice falls to a terrified whisper. “She didn’t recognize me, Sans.”

 

“The monster who found you the first time?” And wow…that feels weird to say. But that’s all Sans can think to call it. That was the first time. This is, inexplicably, the second. Somehow.

 

The human nods, Sans can feel the movement against his shoulder. “It was like she’d never seen me before. The other monsters I’d met in the Ruins, too. They couldn’t remember me either. It’s like I was never there before. You’re the first to recognize me.”

 

Sans frowns. He can’t remember anything after she died. Whatever happened to do this, it happened then.

 

It happened…

 

Sans feels the part of his body where his stomach theoretically should have been lurch.

 

“It was you,” he mumbles.

 

“What?” She pulls away, frowning at him in confusion.

 

“Whatever happened. It was you, or because of you.”

 

She’s trembling again, nervous and afraid. “I don’t understand.

 

“I don’t remember anything after you—“ He cuts himself off at the look on her face. “It happened then. Whatever it was that…reversed everything. It must have been something you did. Or something somebody else did because of you. But if no one else remembers, then that means it must have been you.”

 

She shakes her head. “T-That’s not possible. I didn’t do anything. Maybe it was you? You remember as well.”

 

He frowns. “I don’t think so. It took some prompting for me to even remember, and I’d definitely recall suddenly being able to pull off time manipulation.”

 

“Wait.” The human cocks her head, and looks at him in confusion. “You still remembered, though. If you’re right, then how is that possible?”

 

Sans shrugs, and looks off to the side. “No idea.” A finger pokes the side of his face, and he glances back up to see the human glaring at him.

 

“Don’t lie. I… “ She looks down. “Really hate it when people lie to me. “

 

Sans sighs. “A lot of the regular rules with...things…don’t exactly apply to me. That’s the only answer I’ve really got, even if it isn’t a very good one. I really don’t have much of a better idea than that, myself.”

 

The human sighs, but nods. She slumps down slightly, curling in on herself, fiddling with the straps of her backpack again. Sans guesses it must be something of a nervous habit for her. “But…if you _are_ right. Then I…how?”

 

“I don’t know.” Sans frowns in thought. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

“I remember…I remember bleeding out.” Her face grows pale. “I was so afraid. But I didn’t…I didn’t want to die.” She’s trembling, and Sans wraps an arm around her shoulders when she slumps against him, eyes wide and unseeing. “I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want you to die. I wanted to go back where I was safe.” Her expression crumples. “So I did.“ She laughs shakily. “God, you’re right. It was me. I don’t know how I did it, but it was me.”

 

Her knees buckle under her, and Sans yelps as they’re both pulled to the ground, falling into the snow. He pushes himself up to a sitting position carefully, studying the human, who’s curled herself into a tight ball, one hand in a fist that she’s biting down on to muffle the panicked whimpers she’s now emitting. Her other hand reaches up and fists itself in her hair in a tight knot, pulling on the strands hard enough that Sans winces just from watching. Gently, he reaches out and tries to untangle her hair from her hand, using his other hand to catch the fist stuffed against her mouth, with blood running down it from where she’s bitten down. He gently pulls her hands away, keeping a firm grip on them as he shifts his body so that they’re face to face. The human looks at him, but her eyes are glassy and vacant.

 

“Hey, hey. Don’t do that. You’re going to end up hurting yourself.”

 

The human blinks slowly. Sans releases her hands and she curls her arms in, wrapping them around herself. “What does it matter?” she whispers softly. "They’re going to kill me, anyways. Just like last time. And then what? I don’t know if I can even do what I did again. And if I do…then they just kill me again.”

 

“No,” Sans says firmly. “They won’t.” The human stares at him, and he offers her an easy grin. “I helped you last time, right? We just have to avoid the guards this time. It can’t be too difficult.” He sighs and stands up, offering her a hand. “C’mon. It’s better to get moving while we know the guards aren’t around.”

 

The human takes his hand and stands up, dusting the snow off her clothes, but when Sans turns to start walking, he feels her hand grab his coat sleeve to stop him. “Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why are you still helping me?” Sans stares at her in confusion, but she just looks confused herself. “They nearly killed both of us last time. It could happen again. You’re putting yourself in danger when you don’t need to.”

 

“I know that,” he says.

 

She frowns. “So why?”

 

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he says, like it’s obvious. Which, to her, it might not be—but for him, it is. Monsterkind as a whole would never have survived the centuries they’d spent in the Underground if everyone had adopted that sort of _every monster for themselves_ mindset. Just like Sans himself likely wouldn’t have survived as long as he had if everyone had simply looked the other way when he and his brother had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

 

The human still doesn’t look convinced.

 

“And because you’re my friend.”

 

Her face crumples, and she pulls him into another tight hug. “Thank you.”

 

He sighs in relief and rests his head against her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to you so long as I’m around.”

 

She sniffles. “Promise?”

 

He grins against her sweater. “Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

 

 

xxx

 

 

The walk to town is again more silence than anything else, though this time it is less out of choice and more out of necessity. Sans leads the human through the trees, using the small, but well-worn paths invisible from the main pathway that he had found on one of his first few visits to the forest. They move slowly, pausing at every sound of movement along the main path in case it turns out to be a sentry or guard. Yes, Sans knows that theoretically they should all be at Grillby’s like last time, but he isn’t too keen on taking any chances with that. Things could always change, and just because Sans is the only monster to remember the human so far doesn’t mean he would continue to be the only one. Sans thinks it is unlikely but…it is only one extra, unnecessary risk that could be avoided.

 

When they reach the edge of town, Sans feels the human grab his sleeve, her hesitation clear. He isn’t too keen on just wandering back into Snowdin either, after last time, but it’s the only way straight through to Waterfall. Even the Riverperson’s stop is north of the center of town, meaning neither way of moving forward is possible without at least walking through part of town.

 

And of course, they have to consider the fact that, even if they get out of Snowdin, there’s still the possibility of people recognizing the human for what she is, or running into guards or sentries once they reach Waterfall. Guards generally aren’t posted to Waterfall, but Sans knows there’s at least one sentry stationed near the entrance, and one or two guards will occasionally patrol Waterfall during a full-Underground sweep. Those are pretty rare, but if word gets out a human is in the Underground, Sans has no doubt the entirety of the Royal Guard will be out patrolling en mass.

 

Which would be pretty bad for them.

 

Ultimately, while moving as undetected as possible is the goal, the best thing would to be to have some way of keeping people from recognizing the human as something other than just another monster. Luckily, stealth by clothing choice is something of a specialty with Sans. His own sweater, sweatpants, boots, and coat are practical for the cold of Snowdin and wet of Waterfall, yes, but more importantly they cover up his more obvious skeleton features and provide him with some level of anonymity in their commonness. He doesn’t stand out in a crowd, and his clothing makes him look as non-threatening as possible. He chooses to dress like this for that very purpose. It’s a useful skill to have, one Sans has had as a well-formed instinct since he first woke up in Waterfall. Perhaps it’s a talent he acquired out of necessity from wherever it was he lived before.

 

Regardless, it’ll prove useful now.

 

He turns around and offers the human a comforting smile. “It’s alright. I’ve got a plan. Do you have a cell phone?”

 

She nods shakily, and fishes something out of her shorts pocket. When she hands it to him, he flips it open and pulls up the messaging application, typing in one of the few numbers he keeps memorized. Sans doesn’t have his own phone. He hasn’t found one that works well in the junk piles yet, and buying one from a shop would cost too much for it to be a priority, but most monsters are pretty good about letting someone borrow their phone if asked nicely, so Sans makes sure to keep a few important numbers memorized.

 

He sends off a couple quick texts to Grillby, before handing the phone back to the human. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about Grillby not getting the messages. The fire monster really hates having to talk on the phone, so he makes it a point to always keep it on hand so people can message him instead and still be sure of getting a prompt reply.

 

“Right.” He nods to himself, then shrugs off his coat, handing it to the human. “Put that on. It’ll be a bit big but hopefully it won’t fall off.” The human frowns, but takes off her backpack and pulls the coat on. Sans reaches down and grabs the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, and studies the human. His coat’s completely the wrong fit, the ends swinging around the bottoms of her knees like they do on him, and hanging loosely off her slim frame even more than it does on Sans. She frowns at the rolled-up sleeves, which are now too short on her longer arms, and rolls them out slightly so that they cover her wrists and lower palms. She zips up the jacket, and pulls up the oversized hood, tucking her hair into it.

 

Sans sighs. It’s not a great fit, but then again it really isn’t on him, either. He’s just too attached to the damn thing to get a better replacement. At least it isn’t falling off of her. He leans up slightly and pulls the hood lower over her face, before taking a step back and observing her figure. The human seems to have gotten the idea, as she’s stuck her hands in the pockets and slumped forward slightly at an angle that’s obviously intended to obscure as much of her actual body shape as possible.

 

Sans nods. It does the trick well enough for now. At least she’s more obscure looking, and, should it come to that, harder to give a definitive physical description of.

 

“We’re going to one of the houses in Snowdin, for now,” he tells the human quietly. “We’re going to have to walk through most of town, so keep your head down and follow me, and I’ll keep you away from as many monsters as possible, ok?”

 

The human lets out a shaky breath. “Ok. I trust you.”

 

Sans grins nervously, and turns around, waiting until he feels the human’s hand grasp the sleeve of his sweater before starting to walk. He leads her through town as quickly as he can without drawing suspicion, cutting a wide berth around Grillby’s bar. The door to the bar bursts open once as they walk by, startling both of them, but it’s just Ignis kicking out a patron who’s had a few too many. Avoiding the groups of townspeople, Sans leads the human the rest of the way past the bar, before turning into the small side street that leads to his friend’s house. There are only two houses on the street, one small brown one that the bunny family that runs the pastry shop lives in, and another made completely of brick on the outside, in order to bolster the flame-proof magic it’s infused with, that Grillby and his parents live in. They walk to the latter, and Sans knocks quickly on the door, glancing around nervously in the fear that they’ll suddenly be caught last minute, but the door opens, and Sans quickly dives through, pulling the human after him.

 

Grillby shuts the door behind them, and then turns back, raising an eyebrow as he flicks open his own phone to display the messages Sans had sent him.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sans mumbles, straightening up. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to bail from the diner in the middle of the day unless it was a big deal. Your parents weren’t too mad, were they?”

 

Grillby shrugs. _Not too much, Mum was mostly just worried._

 

Sans winces. “Sorry.” Grillby nods, and then gestures questioningly to the human, still hiding behind Sans with his coat on and the hood pulled up. “Congratulations, you spotted the big deal.” He offers a reassuring nod to the human, who hesitates, and then pulls the hood down, her black hair tumbling out and falling in a tangle around the coat collar. “Meet—

 

_(Her name. He told Grillby her name twice. What was it?)_

 

“She’s kind of new around here. And, if you haven’t figured it out already, she’s a human.”

 

Grillby nods, but his eyes are wide as he studies the human, no sign of recognition. Right, so that rules out the chances of Grillby remembering. Sans had already figured it was a long shot anyways.

 

“She hasn’t hurt anyone.” He hesitates. “I’m…I’m not gonna let the guards have her.”

 

Grillby still seems stunned, but manages to roll his eyes and give Sans one of his perpetual deadpan looks. _Well, obviously._

 

“She needs to get back up to the Surface. I know that the barrier is at the castle, but that’s about it. You got any more of an idea of the particulars?”

 

Grillby frowns, and shakes his head.

 

Sans sighs. “I didn’t think so. I’ve got a place I can get more information in Waterfall, but we’ve got to get there undetected first. Snowdin’s got too many guards hanging around these parts for her to stay here safely.” He frowns and studies his coat, still hanging loosely off the human, before snapping his fingers and turning back to Grillby. “Do you still have that cloak your cousin gave you as a gag gift last year?”

 

Grillby brightens, and nods, walking down to his room and sliding inside. Sans turns back to the human, who’s fidgeting in place. “You alright?”

 

“Yes. I just…” She winces slightly, eyes downcast. “He’s not going to get in trouble for helping us, is he? I know you already promised to help me, but he doesn’t even know what happened last time.”

 

Sans grins. “Don’t worry about him. Grillby wouldn’t help unless he wanted to. Besides, if everything goes right, no one will know we were even here.” She still looks nervous. “Look, even if someone realized, monsters would never hurt one of their own, especially for something like that. Grillbz would probably just get a lecture about common sense or something.”

 

The human relaxes, and though her frown stays in place, it seems more wistfully sad than nervous now. “That’s…pretty different from humans.”

 

Sans hesitates, and wonders if he should ask what she means, but before he can decide, Grillby’s back, holding the heavy black cloak Fuku had sent for his birthday last year, a part of some inside joke Sans still hasn’t managed to get Grillby to explain to him. Grillby holds out the cloak to the human, who unzips Sans’s hoodie and gives it back to him, then takes the cloak and pulls it around her shoulders, fastening the three buttons at the collar. Grillby steps forward and pulls the hood over her head, pulling it as low over her face as possible while still giving her visibility. Some of her hair slips out of the hood and curls around the collar of the cloak, but blends in pretty well again the black fabric. The human leans down and grabs the backpack from where Sans had rested it against the wall when they came in, putting it over one shoulder before drawing the cloak closed over herself.

 

Grillby studies her, then nods at Sans. Sans has to agree, it does a pretty good job. The cloak covers her almost completely, the only distinguishable things the bottoms of her boots, the lump under the cloak where her backpack sits, and the lower part of her face not covered by the hood or her hair. Cloaks are relatively common with some monsters, and the way she looks now, she could easily pass as just another bipedal monster who prefers to keep themselves covered. Sans grins. It’s exactly what he’d hoped.

 

“Well, that’s definitely more than _cape_ able of doing the job.” The human snickers, and Grillby shoves an elbow in his side. Sans laughs and steps out of range. “Okay, yeah. I know it’s technically a cloak, not a cape, but I’d have _tibia_  fool to pass that one up.” Grillby scoffs and swats at him, which Sans dodges easily. “C’mon buddy, you should have known I wouldn’t stay in _fire_ ing range.” The human is laughing now, properly, and Sans laughs too, even when Grillby, who’s doing his best to neutralize his own amused expression, finally manages to catch him unawares and smack the back of his head.

 

That only sets the human into another bout of laughter as Sans chases Grillby around the room, shouting puns and trying to get in his own revenge swat. Eventually, Grillby accidently bumps into the human, and then the three of them are chasing each other between the rooms, breathless in laughter as they forget, even temporarily, the serious situation they’ve fallen into.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The walk to the dock at the northern tip of town is quiet. Grillby had gone ahead once to check the Riverperson was there, before coming back and walking with the two of them there. Sans had told him he was free to go back to the bar, but he’d insisted he go with them, to make sure they got there safely. Sans knows it was something of an excuse, given it was less than a six or seven minute walk and not even near the bar—where the guards are, presumably, still holed up. But, he isn’t about to fight him on it.

 

When they reach the dock, the Riverperson is still waiting there quietly with their small, almost flat boat. The human takes off her backpack and places it in the boat, before couching down to open it and rummage around. Sans turns to his friend and offers him a nervous smile. “I don’t know how long this might take, so…that offer your parents made to watch Papyrus whenever I need still stands, right?” Grillby nods. “Okay, good. I, um, tell them thank you for me in advance. I’ll send Pap back in the boat, he’s used it loads of times before. He knows his way to the bar, but would you mind waiting here for him anyways?” Another nod. “Thanks.”

 

“Um…Grillby?” They both startle, and look over at the human, who’s quietly standing behind them. Grillby stands forwards and tips his head in question. The human holds out something in her hand, whatever she must have gotten out of her backpack, and Grillby takes it carefully. Sans peers over his shoulder and takes a look as Grillby turns it over and runs his thumb over it. It’s a small charm, the kind for a keychain or phone, that has a little plastic-encased image of a cartoony flame-person attached to it. “I know it’s kind of a dumb gift, but…I don’t really have a lot in my backpack, and I thought you might like this most out of anything.” The human looks down. “It’s not much, but I just wanted to give you something to say thank you. I know you’re not under any obligations to help me, so I…I appreciate it.”

 

Grillby blinks, and looks up. He doesn’t say anything, but Sans can tell he’s touched. He guesses the human can tell too, because she just offers a small smile and leans forward, giving Grillby a quick hug. “Goodbye.” She turns and climbs into the boat, making a point of looking out over the water rather than at them.

 

Sans hesitates, and then gives Grillby a quick salute before turning to follow her. Grillby’s hand grabs his arm, and he stops, turning back. Grillby looks conflicted, eyes flicking to the human and back to him, before turning resolute.

 

“Be careful,” he murmurs, in the quiet, calm manner he always does on the rare occasion he speaks. “She seems nice, and it’s good that you’re helping her. But…she’s right. If it comes down to it, you don’t owe her anything.”

 

Sans raises an eyebrow. “Not any more than you, or your parents, or Gerson owes me anything, or ever did. But you helped me anyways. She’s…” He looks off to the side. “She’s lost and afraid, and if anyone understands what that feels like, it’s me.”

 

Grillby nods. “Still. At the end of the day your primary obligation is to come home to Papyrus, not to protect a human you barely know. Just…don’t do anything too stupid.”

 

Sans grins. “ _Too_ stupid? Aww, B. I didn’t know you cared.”

 

Grillby glares at him. “Of course I care, you idiot.”

 

Sans sighs, and nudges his friend. “You worry too much. I’ve only got to get her to the castle, what could go wrong?” He resolutely tries no to think about how much went wrong last time. It’ll be different this time around. They’re being cautious. It’ll be _fine_.

 

Grillby nods hesitantly, and Sans gives him one last grin, and then turns and steps into the boat. “Waterfall.” He tells the Riverperson quietly, drawing his coat hood over his skull and trying to ignore Grillby’s worried figure as the Riverperson gently pushes the boat forward with their magic, towards Waterfall, towards home.

 

Fine.

 

Everything will be fine.

 

Nothing bad is going to happen this time.

 

…At least, he hopes nothing bad will happen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a transition chapter than anything else, but hopefully people still enjoyed it.
> 
> I hope our human (shall we call her Integrity for now?) Isn't coming off as too bland or crybaby-ish. She's a good kid who's been through a bit and is rightfully scared out of her mind. I worry that choosing not to have Sans remember her name (even though I have given her one, if only to myself) makes it harder to picture her as a character or read her dialogue, but it was an intentional choice I made and I'm sticking with it, for better or worse.
> 
> Feedback, or constructive criticism of any sort is appreciated. (Though any sort of comment, kudos, bookmark, etc. means a lot to me regardless.) This is un-betad, so if anyone picks up any grammatical/spelling problems or typos please let me know.
> 
> I think I might have the next chapter finished within a day or two, fingers crossed.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	4. Barter for Your Soul (and Gamble with Your Life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right.” Sans says, kicking open the dimensional storage box that sits outside Gerson’s shop and pulling out the sack of emergency trade items he keeps in there. “Rule one of dealing with the monsters we’re about to go see: Don’t let their physical appearance fool you. Temmies are possibly some of the most vicious and cunning creatures in existence when they choose to be. Their happy-go-lucky attitude and idiotic persona are simply a cover for their intelligence. I can’t stress this enough— Do not underestimate them.”
> 
> The human’s face is pale, but she nods. “Um… If they’re so bad, why are we going to see them?”
> 
> “Because.” Sans straightens up and slings the sack over his shoulder. “They trade either directly or indirectly with almost everyone in the Underground, they run a good portion of the economy that way, and as such, they make it a point to know what’s going on.” He offers the human a grim smile. “Once you get past their bullshit, Temmies are the ultimate source of information, so long as you’re willing to pay them what they want for it."

Waterfall is a quiet stillness and tranquility that Sans has grown to love. It’s the least populated area of the Underground, its natural mazes and endless rivers making it a difficult to navigate and, to many, uninhabitable area. But, to Sans, this very nature of the place is what makes it safe to him. He knows this area like the back of his hand. His knowledge of its secrets is subpar to only a few, and considering he’s only been living here a couple years, much less than the decades, or even centuries, some others have had, Sans thinks he’s done pretty well. He’s a naturally observant person, and he’s put that to use.

 

Which, Sans reckons, will be something that will come in handy now.

 

When the boat touches down on the banks of the dock, Sans steps out quickly, and then reaches down to grab the human’s backpack while she stands up from where she’d been crouching against the floor of the almost flat boat, trailing a hand in the water in amazement as the Riverperson’s magic pushed them to Waterfall in a bare few minutes. Once she’s out of the boat, Sans hands her bag back to her and turns to the Riverperson.

 

“Wait here, please. There’s someone that will need a ride back to Snowdin.”

 

The Riverperson nods, and Sans leads the human up the way that leads to Gerson’s cave. She pauses as they pass the other two pathways, and Sans waves his hand in dismissal. “That first one just leads to an abandoned house, the other’s a snail farm.”

 

“…A snail farm?”

 

“Run by these three ghosts. They’re all kinda nutty, really. Always either screaming at each other over nothing or refusing to go anywhere unless it’s together. Cousins, or something.”

 

The human hums contemplatively, but nods and follows Sans the rest of the way up the path. At the entrance to Gerson’s cave, he stops and signals the human to do the same. “You might want to wait here. Gerson’s pretty harmless, but I wouldn’t exactly call him a…fan of most humans. It’s probably better if you just—“

 

He’s cut off when a small force slams into him from behind. The human yelps and he stumbles back slightly at the sudden weight hanging off of him, but looks down and relaxes when he realizes who it is. Only his brother would manage to turn a well-meaning hug into a flying, full-bodied assault. Papyrus looks up at him, and grins, and Sans feels properly at ease for the first time all day.

 

“Heya, Paps. Were you well-behaved for Gerson while I was in Snowdin?”

 

His brother pouts. “Of course. The Great Papyrus is always well-behaved.”

 

Sans grins, and reaches down to scoop him up. “Well I don’t know about that,” he says. “But I think it’s fair to say you're well-behaved _most_ of the time.” Papyrus makes a face at him, and Sans laughs.

 

“Ah, see you found your brother, kiddo.”

 

Gerson steps out and leans against the entrance to his cave, observing them with a neutral expression. He raises an eyebrow at the human in her heavy cloak standing behind Sans, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he fixes his eyes on the brothers and gives Sans a polite nod. “Sans, you’re back a bit early. Not much to do today?”

 

“Something like that,” Sans says, trying to keeps his nervousness out of his voice. “Well, thanks for watching Papyrus, but we’ve actually got to be going now, so if you’ll excuse us…” He wraps an arm firmly around Papyrus, and uses the other to grab the edge of the human’s cloak, pulling her along. They don’t get more than two steps when Sans hears a pointed cough from behind them.

 

“Kid, that cloak may not be too bad of a disguise, but I fought a years-long war against the human race. You really think I wouldn’t recognize one when they show up on my doorstep?”

 

Sans freezes, turning back around to face him slowly. He feels the human hesitate next to him, and makes to pull her behind him, but she twists out of his grip and steps forward. She’s trembling when she pulls down her hood, but determinedly looks Gerson in the eye. Papyrus gasps, and Sans shushes him quickly.

 

“What of it?” she asks, the barest quiver in her voice betraying her fear.

 

Gerson shrugs. “Nothing really, I suppose. Just observing the facts. Of course, theoretically, if I wanted, I could hand you over to ol’ Fluffybuns or his Royal Guards. Sans too, for willingly aiding a known human.”

 

Sans frowns. He knows Gerson well enough to tell when he’s bluffing, and he definitely is now. He goes to step forward, but the human side-steps in front of him, throwing an arm out to keep him from stepping around her.

 

“No, you won’t.”

 

Gerson looks at her calmly. “And you’d stop me, kid? Humans may be pretty tough creatures down here compared to most monsters, but even I can tell you’re not much of a fighter.”

 

The human tilts her head. “You’re right, I’m not a fighter. But there’s a difference between not usually having the will to fight, and the ability to. I…” She breaks off, and Sans sees the hand that’s still by her side curl into a fist. “I haven’t hurt anyone, and I would like to keep it that way. But, my own safety aside…Sans is helping me purely because he chose to, and I won’t risk letting anything happen to him as a result of that, no matter what he says about monsters looking out for their own.” She turns her head and gives him a pointed look. “Not because of me.”

 

The human’s expression is resolute when she turns to face Gerson again, but he merely gives an easy chuckle. “Relax, kid. That’s all I needed to hear.” He studies her carefully. “You’re quite the honest little thing, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” the human says, bluntly. “I don’t like people who lie to me. So how can I expect someone to trust me if I’m not honest with them? It’s only fair.”

 

Gerson hums thoughtfully and nods. “Maybe you’re one of the rare good ones, kid. Regardless, I’m not gonna stop you. I said goodbye to all this human-related nonsense of Asgore’s years ago.” He pauses. “Be careful, though. There are a lot of others who wouldn’t feel that way.”

 

The human nods. “Thank you.” She turns to leave, and Sans grabs her arm.

 

“Wait.” He looks at Gerson. “The barrier—do you know how a human can get across it? Why does Asgore—“

 

“I meant it when I said I was done with that stuff, son, “ Gerson tells him firmly. “I retired when monsters came to the Underground, and cut ties with Asgore the minute he started with his ridiculous plans to get out and wage war with humanity. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the information you’re looking for. I’m sure you know where you can go to get it, though.”

 

Sans sighs and nods, turning and walking down the pathway out to the dock. The human falls into step beside him, and he grins. It’s the first time she’s walked next to him rather than hiding behind him since time flipped backwards. It feels more comfortable, like they are on even footing for once. He leans over and nudges her in the side gently. “You didn’t have to say all that stuff, y’know. You didn’t even need to talk to him. It looked like you were pretty frightened.”

 

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you kidding? I was terrified.” She pauses. “I still had to say that though, had to be honest. He was testing me, to make sure I wouldn’t use you to keep myself safe at your own expense. And…I think I needed to hear myself say that.” She smiles at him. “If I don’t make an effort to protect myself and find my own way out of here, then I really am just letting you put yourself in more unnecessary danger. I’m…I’ve been enough of a burden to people before. I don’t want to be one again.”

 

Sans frowns. “You’re not a—“

 

“Are you _really_ a human?” Papyrus asks loudly, interrupting him.

 

The human startles, but looks down at Papyrus and grins. “Yes, I am. And you’re Papyrus, right?”

 

“Mhmm!” Papyrus nods emphatically. “I’m the Great Papyrus, coolest and bestest skeleton there is!”

 

“I bet you are,” the human says. “Though what about your brother? Is he cool too, or just a boring-bones?” She gives Sans an amused look, and he makes a face at her in retaliation.

 

“Sans, no rude faces!” Papyrus unhooks one of his arms from around Sans’s neck and baps him on the head, before scrunching up his face in thought. “Sans is…cool too, but he makes too many bad puns.”

 

“Oh? I think your brother’s puns are a ton of fun.”

 

Sans raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“Yup.” She says. “A _skele-ton_.”

 

Papyrus blinks once, and then lets out a howl of enraged disbelief. “SANSSSS! NO! SHE’S DOING IT TOO!” Sans can barely contain his snickers, and neither can the human, though they’re both drowned out by Papyrus’s continued shrieks of exaggerated anguish. Once all three of them quiet down, Papyrus looks between the two of them and hums happily. “Are you two friends?”

 

The human pauses, then nods decisively. “Yes, we are. I could be your friend too, if you like?”

 

Papyrus’s whole face lights up, and he cheers. “Wowie! I’m friends with a human! And Sans has a friend who doesn’t smell like grease!” He pouts theatrically. “…Even if they do also make puns.”

 

Sans grins easily, but when they turn the corner and the dock is there with the Riverperson waiting, his smile falters. “Actually Paps, speaking of grease…” He bends down and deposits Papyrus on the ground carefully, then crouches down so that they are looking at each other on the same level. “You’re going to have to stay with Grillby and his parents for a bit, okay?”

 

“What?” Papyrus’s pout is back, but this time it’s real. “Without you?”

 

Sans sighs. “Yes, without me.”

 

“No!”

 

“Papyrus, please. This is really important. It’ll only be for a day or two, I promise.”

 

Papyrus crosses his arms and glares at him. “I don’t want to! Not without you!”

 

“I can’t Paps,” he says quietly. “The human…it isn’t safe for her here. There are bad monsters that would want to hurt her. She needs to get to the castle, but she can’t get there without someone to guide her. As her friend, I need to help her.”

 

“I…don’t understand.” Papyrus frowns in confusion and looks at the human. “Monsters want to hurt you?” The human sighs, and crouches down next to them, nodding to Papyrus.

 

“Yes, your brother has offered to help me get back home. Though…” She looks down, and twists her hands together nervously. “I’d…probably be okay on my own, if you wanted to stay with your brother, Sans.” She glances at Sans. “You should take care of Papyrus. I can figure something out.”

 

Sans glares at her. “I already said I’d help you. Stop backing out because you expect me to suddenly change my mind, I’m not going to. I promised, didn’t I?”

 

“But, your brother…”

 

“Paps will be alright without me for a couple days,” he says firmly, consciously ignoring the part of him that rebels in horror at not being able to keep an eye on his brother. He trusts Grillby and his parents, he can rely on them to watch Papyrus for a day or two. His brother will be fine. It's the human that needs help right now. “Right, Paps?”

 

Papyrus looks between the two of them. “You’re…only going for a couple days, to help the human get home.”

 

“Yes.”

 

His little brother sighs loudly. “Fine. Though you have to be back as soon as possible. I hate Grillby’s house, it always smells like grease.”

 

Sans grins. “You got it, bro.” He goes to stand up, and Papyrus jumps on him, hugging him tightly. Gently, he wraps his arms around Papyrus and rests his skull on the top of his brother’s, breathing in the faint smell that is a mix of earth, and wool, and all things Papyrus.

 

It’ll be okay, he tells himself. You’ll get the human out of here. You’ll come back to your brother. Everything will be fine.

 

Taking a deep breath and resigning himself to the inevitable, Sans breaks away from the hug. Reaching down and fixing Papyrus’s favorite scarf, the red one that’s way too big for him, he nods to himself once, a reassurance, and then picks his brother up and lifts him over the gap between the shore and the boat, setting him down carefully in the middle of the base of the boat.

 

“Snowdin,” he says. “And make sure Grillby’s the one who picks him up.”

 

The Riverperson hums an affirmative, and Sans can’t bring himself to look at Papyrus’s nervous face, he can’t, _he can’t—_

“Wait.” The human steps forward, and kneels at the shore next to the boat, pulling something out of her backpack. “Before you go, Papyrus, I have a present for you.”

 

In the blink of an eye, Papyrus goes from nervous to excited. “A present?”

 

The human grins. “Yep. Here, hold out your hand.” Papyrus sticks out his hand excitedly, and the human drops a smooth, pinkish-brown pebble into it. “This is from the Surface, where my home is. I don’t know if you have stones like these down here, but even by Surface standards, this one’s color is pretty cool. I think so, at least. Though…I mean, it’s just a pebble, so if you don’t want it, I completely understand—“

 

“I love it!” Papyrus’s entire face is one big smile as he brings his hand back to his chest and cradles the stone in his palms, looking down at it with excitement. “I can really have it?”

 

“Of course,” the human says, voice warm. “Consider it a friendship gift.”

 

Sans watches his brother’s eyes widen. “A friendship gift?”

 

“Of course,” the human says with a wink. “Those are very important, you know.” Papyrus nods excitedly, and she smiles. “It’s also a promise gift. I’m giving that to you with a promise that I’ll keep Sans safe just like he’s keeping me safe, and he’ll be back home before you know it. Ok?”

 

“Ok!” Papyrus shouts. “I hope you get home soon, too.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Papyrus grins, and then turns to the Riverperson. “I’m ready to go now, please.” The Riverperson looks to Sans, and with a nod from him, encircles the boat with their magic and pulls it down the river out of sight.

 

“Bye Paps,” Sans mumbles as he watches the boat go, then looks to the human as she straightens up, holding her backpack. “You really have a thing for gifts, don’t you?”

 

She shrugs, and looks down, running a hand over the pink frills that still stick out of her backpack, an almost sad expression on her face. “Gifts are important. A gift from the heart—even an impromptu one—is, to me at least, much better than an expensive one when it’s given with no love behind it.”

 

Sans hums thoughtfully. “I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

 

A slight wind whistles through the river tunnel, and they both turn and look out over the water. It’s the same dark, rushing blue Sans has seen a thousand times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. To many monsters, the river that runs through the Underground is just a convenient mode of transportation. But to Sans, who can never look at it without remembering the first time he saw it, with wide eyes at the realization that something that big and lively existed in the strange place of gentle waterfalls and small pools that had become his new home, the river is its own force of nature—dangerous, but beautiful. He wonders if they have sights like that up on the Surface, with all its supposed great big open spaces. Ones that are small, easy to ignore, if you’re not the kind of person to focus on them while passing by, yet so strangely beautiful and unique, if only mostly to those who haven’t seen too much of the world, and if only in the smallest of ways for everyone else who has.

 

“What now?” the human asks.

 

“Now,” he says. “We go barter for some information.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

“Right,” Sans says, kicking open the dimensional storage box that sits outside Gerson’s shop and pulling out the sack of emergency trade items he keeps in there. “Rule one of dealing with the monsters we’re about to go see: don’t let their physical appearance fool you. Temmies are possibly some of the most vicious and cunning creatures in existence when they choose to be. Their happy-go-lucky attitude and idiotic persona are simply a cover for their intelligence. I can’t stress this enough— _do not underestimate them_.”

 

The human’s face is pale, but she nods. “Um…if they’re so bad, why are we going to see them?”

 

“Because.” Sans straightens up and slings the sack over his shoulder. “They trade either directly or indirectly with almost everyone in the Underground. They run a good portion of the economy that way, and as such, they make it a point to know what’s going on.” He offers the human a grim smile. “Once you get past their bullshit, Temmies are the ultimate source of information, so long as you’re willing to pay them what they want for it. Luckily,” he motions to the sack, “I keep a sort of emergency supply of tradable items here, in case I ever need something urgently and for whatever reason can’t or won’t go back home for my regular stuff. Never had to use it, but looks like it’ll finally come in handy.”

 

The human frowns. “We could just try to use what’s in my backpack, you know. You don’t need to waste your stuff on me.”

 

Sans waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. This isn’t important trade items or anything I can’t find again.” He shrugs. “To be honest, I always sort of thought I’d never end up using it at all, it just seemed like a good idea at the time when I first put it here. Keep your stuff, you might need it later on.”

 

“…Alright,” she says. “If you’re sure.”

 

“Yup. Ok, follow me.”

 

The walk down the cavern halls is quick, but when they reach the room that hides the entrance to the Temmies’ village, the human stops and grabs Sans’s sleeve, her eyes wide and frightened.

 

“This is going to sound stupid, but I really don’t like the dark.”

 

“It’s not that far, I promise,” he says. “I’ve walked it loads of times. You can hold onto me if you want.”

 

The human shakes her head. She’s even paler now, hands grabbing at the fabric of her cloak and pulling it more snugly around herself. “No, you don’t understand. I really, _really_ don’t like the dark. I’m terrified of it. I…” She cuts herself off, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth. She looks close to tears.

 

Sans blinks.

 

_Oh._

 

It’s _that_ type of fear. The type that claws at your throat and pulls all the air out of your lungs and leave you screaming on the inside. The type that makes absolutely no sense in the vast perspective of things or when explained to someone else, but makes perfect sense to the one person who feels it. The type that crawls to the forefront of your mind and takes over any logical thought.

 

…The type of fear Sans felt that first time he saw the Underground’s river, mixing with and eventually overwhelming the awe he primarily felt at its beauty, when Papyrus got too close to the edge, and all of a sudden all he could feel was breathless terror.

 

The type of fear Sans still feels sometimes when he sees the patches of frozen river in Snowdin, especially when Papyrus is anywhere near them.

 

It’s a paranoia that won’t be leaving him anytime soon. As it is now, he still struggles occasionally with letting Papyrus ride in the Riverperson’s boat, despite knowing it’s perfectly safe. Sans doesn’t think it’s a fear he’ll ever really be over, irrational and impossible to explain as it is—just another piece of wherever he came from before Waterfall to haunt him.

 

That fear on the human’s face? He knows it all too well.

 

“Ok,” he says, backing her out of the shadows of the entryway. “Ok. Not a problem. Just wait here for a second, all right?” The human nods stiffly, and he ducks inside the room, walking with practiced precision the steps he’s learned to navigate perfectly in the dark, until he reaches the first glowstool in the room, tapping it to activate its quiet blue light. After that, he merely has to follow the glowing patterns on the floor to each consecutive glowstool, until he’s lit up the last one in the room, and the whole area is laid out in a soft blue glow. With a grin, he backtracks to the human and gives her a thumbs up. “This should solve the problem.” The human follows him into the room, and upon seeing the  glowing pathway that lights up the space around them, instantly relaxes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He shrugs. “No problem. I get it. Well…I mean, not the dark thing, but…I get crazy nervous around rivers sometimes. Frozen rivers, to be more exact. ‘Specially when Pap’s near ‘em. So…” He coughs. “Right. Temmie village, this way.”

 

The human follows him calmly this time, and at the edge of the entrance to the village, he stops and motions to her cloak. “Should probably put the hood back up. They might recognize you’re human anyways, cause, like I said, they know basically everything, but it’s still best to give them as little of an idea as possible ‘bout what you look like.” The human hums an agreement and pulls up her hood. Out of instinct, Sans reaches up and does the same, drawing the hood of his coat low over his brow. It’s pretty much pointless these days, the Temmies know his name and probably basically everything about him, but he’d really rather not leave the back of his head exposed to those things.

 

Stepping inside Temmie village is, to Sans, like stepping into his own personal, custom-designed hell. Everything is obnoxiously bright, and loud, and _lord help him why is one of them always humming that damn song_.

 

He freezes in his tracks and tries very hard not to turn around and bolt the other way. It’s only when the human brushes past him, shooting him a confused look as she passes him, that he manages to get himself moving again.

 

He’s spent this whole time promising the human she can trust him to keep her alive and safe—like hell he’s going to hide behind her here of all places.

 

“H0i, i’M TeMmiE!”

 

The human stops, and blinks at the Temmie that’s wandered up to her, offering a smile to it. “Hello there.” She crouches down and peers at it with interest, and hurriedly Sans grabs the back of her cloak and pulls her up.

 

“What happened to rule one?” he asks her with a sigh, before looking down at the Temmie still standing in front of them. “Go away. Shoo.” In an instant, the Temmie’s vacant eyes harden to a death glare, which never leaves Sans’s face as it slinks away from them, stepping into line with the other Temmies that dot the area. Multitudes of beady eyes look up at him, and Sans, against all biological possibility, feels himself begin to sweat nervously. He’s never figured out if the Temmies are a species that just inherently looks the same no matter what, or a bunch of clones, or just demon spawn. He’s always leaned towards the third option, but he’s never been to keen to properly find out, and he isn’t about to either.

 

“C’mon,” he says, dragging the human into the shop and ignoring her half-voiced complaints as she gazes longingly back at the main room. “Believe me, they’re not as sweet as they look.”

 

“Awww…wHy Say tHaT? MaKE TemMiE sAd…”

 

With a cringe, Sans turns and faces the head Temmie staring at him with her head cocked slightly to the left in a deceptively innocent manner, a dumb half smile on her face. He glares at her. “Cut the crap, I’m not in the mood.” Lifting the sack off his shoulder, he swings it in front of her, watching her eyes track it with intent, before chucking it down on the table in front of her. “I’ve come to trade.” The Temmie’s small, closed smile stretches up into a wide grin, showing off sharp incisors, and Sans shivers nervously as he hears the human gasp and instinctively grab his sleeve.

 

Yeah…he really doesn’t like these things.

 

The Temmie motions him closer, and he steps forward to the edge of the table, the human a careful step behind him. Reaching down, he opens the sack and upends it, spilling the contents out onto the table. Sans looks at them, and winces. It’s mostly human junk he’s fished out of the lower pools, which, depending on the items, can be quite valuable on the goods market. But these, looking at them under the more experienced eye for these things he has gained over the last couple years, they…aren’t. It isn’t a bad stash considering it was only for a hypothetical emergency, and was put together after he’d barely been around for a couple months, but it definitely could be better.

 

The head Temmie’s eyes sweep over the items quickly, and she clucks her tounge in mock disappointment. “Not enough for that coat for your brother, though I suppose you already knew that?”

 

Sans nods. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

 

“No,” says the Temmie. “I didn’t think you were.” Her eyes glint, and she looks around Sans, focusing in on the human standing behind him. “Come here. Let me get a look at you, human.”

 

The human gulps, but shuffles forward until she’s standing next to Sans. The Temmie hops up from her seat behind the counter and walks across it towards her. Quickly, Sans shoots up an arm in front of the human and glares at the Temmie, sending her a clear message.

 

_No further._

The Temmie chuckles and stops, looking over the human with scrutinizing eyes. “Just a child, aren’t you? Then again, they’re always children.” She hums and walks backwards, hopping into her seat. “You’re younger than the two humans that came before you, but older than the first who died at Asgore’s hand.” She gazes at the human, expression curious. “How will you fare against him, I wonder? You’re not a fighter, but you are a survivor, aren’t you? Or you were. Are you still? Or have you given up? I doesn’t matter, really. Every human that comes down here is a survivor, in their own way. It still didn’t save any of them from death.”

 

The human whimpers, curling in on herself. “That’s enough,” Sans snaps. “We’re here to get information, not listen to cryptic threats. So are we going to trade or not?”

 

“But of course,” The Temmie says. “Please, take a seat.” The human yelps as two chairs suddenly slam into them from behind, forcing them both to sit. Sans looks back at the two Temmies that have appeared seemingly from nowhere with the chairs and glares, but then turns back to the counter with a sigh. The Temmies’ rough version of _hospitality_ is nothing new to him.

 

“Ask away.”

 

Sans wishes it was that simple, but he knows the drill. Quickly, he scans the items on the desk in front of them and picks out three, sliding them towards the head Temmie. “What does Asgore want with human souls? Why are they so valuable?” The Temmie blinks, and he sighs and grabs another piece of human junk, adding it to the pile in front of her. The Temmie grins and straightens up.

 

“Humans are made of layers of inverses of monsters. While a monster’s body is sustained mostly of magic, human bodies are made of much tougher stuff. As cost for this, almost all humans lose the ability to perform magic, but in return they are much physically stronger than monsters. A side effect, of course, is that while a monster’s strongest attribute is their soul, as it holds deep connections with magic, a human’s weakest—and yet, also their most powerful—attribute is their soul. A human’s soul is very susceptible to magical attacks—unless a human kills magical beings, their soul will remain on par in that regard with the very weakest of monsters, no matter how physically strong in body they are. However, the inherent power, barring magic, of a human’s soul is incredible compared to our own. For whatever reason, something about what makes humans _human_ allows their souls to often persist for some time after death. ” The Temmie offers the human a sharp-toothed smile. “Extraordinary, is it not?

 

“A monster who takes a human’s soul and absorbs it can gain immense power. They become a beast with both the magical capability of a monster, and the physical power and strength of soul of a human—something more formidable than even a Boss Monster or human witch. One such creature could pass through the barrier, a proven fact. It has been done before.”

 

Sans frowns in thought. He’s never heard of such a thing happening, but then again it’s become apparent he’s rather behind the times on a lot of these things. “So then why is Asgore collecting multiple souls? He is, right? You said there have been other humans.” The Temmie mimes zipping her mouth shut, and with a sigh, Sans chucks another two items over the table to her.

 

“There is, of course, another option. If one could gather enough human souls, seven to be exact, then they could absorb them all, and become something else entirely,” the Temmie says. “A literal god among monsters, and a near unstoppable force to even the humans. This is what King Asgore plans, and what he gathers the souls for. With seven human souls, he can become God. Using his immense power, he will shatter the barrier, and lead us into the second human and monster war. At least, that is what he has said he will do.” The Temmie tips her head to the side. “Who knows what will really happen? After all, he is rather…wishy-washy, and who is to say we would win in this theoretical battle? There are more humans than us, as there always have been. And humans do so like to tear down false gods, don’t they?”

 

Sans shifts, and fights the urge to turn and run, now, because she must be lying, she must—but Temmies never lie, and if she’s not lying then they’re dead, they’re all _dead,_ because that’s crazy, that’s the craziest plan for getting out of the Underground possible. They can’t go to war against humans and win, they just _can’t._ Even Sans accepts that as a universal fact, and he’s barely been around here a few years. Has everyone forgotten how they ended up in the Underground in the first place?

 

The human places a hand on his arm, her expression worried, and Sans shakes himself out of his stupor, because, right, priorities. Focus on getting the human out now, panic about their apparently insane King’s plan to reawaken a war that happened over a century and a half ago and nearly wiped out their entire race.

 

He pushes forward two of the last few items left. “Theoretically, how does a human get out from the Underground, then?” The Temmie looks coolly at him, and he adds another item. That leaves only one left. Sans hopes, against all odds, that the Temmie will give them everything they need. “How does a human get out?” he repeats.

 

The Temmie hums contemplatively. “The general belief is that a human could cross the barrier of their own free will, as the barrier was constructed to keep monsters in, not humans. Still, that’s just a general theory, untested and unproven. There have been…rumors about whether or not it is possible, but no one truly knows. If Asgore knows the definitive answer, then he’s being wise and keeping his cards close to his chest.” The Temmie pauses. “Of course, there is always the guaranteed option.” She offers the human a dark smile, light glinting off her pointed teeth. “Since it has been proven that the combination of human and monster souls is enough to cross the barrier, if a human killed a monster and managed to claim their soul before it eroded, perhaps not even absorb it, just carry it with them, they could most definitely cross the barrier.”

 

“Absolutely not,” snaps the human.

 

“Oh? Then I suppose you’re willing to take the risk that, should you even make it as far as the castle, you may just be trapped regardless and fall to Asgore?” The Temmie chuckles. “If we count you, he’ll only need three more. Such a shame, war is so bad for business. Though I suppose it might make an interesting spectacle.”

 

“You’re awfully neutral about the destruction of monsterkind,” Sans mutters, unable to stop himself.

 

The head Temmie simply shrugs. “Temmies will survive, we always do. The rest of you, though? It’s the luck of the draw. Not that it makes a difference to—oh.” Sans blinks. A Temmie has appeared from…somewhere, he has no clue how, and is standing next to the head Temmie’s chair. “What is it, sweetie?” The Temmie gestures, she leans down, and the Temmie whispers something in her ear. Whatever it is brinks back the sharp-toothed, sadistic smile full force, and instantly Sans feels nervous. “Oh really?” She straightens up and gazes at them. “That is _very_ interesting.”

 

“I think we’re done here.” Sans says with a scowl, going to stand up. “C’mon—“ His chair slams into his knees forcefully from behind, no doubt pushed by a Temmie, cutting him off and forcing him to sit down again.

 

“Don’t you want to know the interesting news my dear Tem just heard?” the Temmie asks, all faux-innocence. “It concerns you and your little human friend, you know.”

 

With a rather pointed glare, Sans looks down at the one item he has left to trade, just a pair of human sunglasses with one lens shattered, not worth much value at all on the goods market, and back up at her. The Temmie simply sighs, and looks to the human, who’s already pulled her backpack out and is rummaging around inside.

 

“Don’t,” Sans grumbles. “It’s what she wants.” The human just gives him a look with a rather clear message.

 

_It’s not like we have a choice not to._

 

Pulling out two candy bars from the bag, the human holds them up for the Temmie’s inspection with a raised eyebrow. When the Temmie nods, she chucks them down next to the sunglasses. “Now talk.”

 

“Well apparently…” Could the Temmie’s smile get any wider? “Word’s gotten out about a possible human in the Underground. A couple monsters caught sight of what they thought was a human walking through the trees of Snowdin forest, and when the Royal Guard dogs were sent to investigate, they picked up what could be a human’s scent and traced it back to Snowdin, where a couple citizens told them about the strange monster they’d never seen before walking with a skeleton through town. Until the threat is either confirmed or denied, the Underground is now on high security mode, and there’s talk of sending a couple sweeps of guards through parts of the Underground. Waterfall is likely one of those possibilities, as someone thought they saw the skeleton get on the Riverperson’s boat with a monster in a cloak.”

 

Sans blanches, and glancing over he can see the human trembling slightly next to him.

 

God dammit, he thought they’d been careful enough.

 

“So if I was you two…” the Temmie purrs. “I’d get moving awful quick.”

 

Sans stands up with a growl. “They come by and you sell us out? I’m never trading again. You can try to find someone else capable of navigating the lower pools who’s willing to take your shit prices.”

 

The Temmie waves a paw. “Calm down. Our deal remains in place. The Royal Guard never pays well for information, anyways.”

 

“Wait.” The human stands up and places her backpack on the table. “Before we go, how much for the coat for Papyrus?”

 

“Don’t bother, it’s fine,” Sans mumbles, trying to tug her away from the table, but she ignores him, staring at the Temmie with a neutral expression.

 

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to part with a finger or two? There are always people in the market for human flesh.” The human turns faintly green and shakes her head. “No? Didn’t think so. Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

 

The human opens her backpack wider and tips it toward the Temmie, who peers inside and mumbles as she digs around. “Would you part with the tutu?”

 

“No,” the human says firmly. “Anything else, though, is fair game.”

 

The Temmie pulls out of the bag, holding three books, a pair of socks, and a water bottle. “Any more candy bars?” The human opens the side pocket and hands the Temmie two more. The Temmie looks over her hoard and grins widely. “Normally this wouldn’t be enough, but good human food is difficult to find, as are good-condition human books, so I suppose you have a deal.” A Temmie appears by her side, holding the heavy winter coat Sans had been trying to buy for weeks now. “It’s yours.”

 

Picking it up without a word, the human hands it to Sans, still so surprised the Temmies actually traded for what they’d been holding over his head for so long that he takes it without a second thought, and walks out of the room.

 

Sans blinks, and chases after her. “Hey!” She’s standing in the village, observing the Temmies with none of the previous awe she had earlier. “You didn’t have to trade for that. I would have gotten it eventually.”

 

“Consider it repayment,” she mumbles, turning towards the entrance. Quickly, he grabs her arm, tugging her back around to face him.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m helping you out of choice? You don’t need to pay me for that.”

 

The human shrugs. “You wasted all that stuff helping me, I think me offering a few things in return is fair trade. Besides, that’s something your brother needs, and all the stuff she took from me is stuff I can do without. They weren’t of much value to me.”

 

“Well…” Sans sighs. “If you’re sure….” She nods. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” She hesitates slightly. “…We should probably get moving, right? Just in case there really are guards coming through.”

 

“I’m not going to let them hurt you,” Sans says, to reassure both himself and her.

 

“I know you won’t,” the human says quietly. With a sigh she surveys the room, and then tips her head back, closing her eyes.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Yes,” she hums. “I just…feel very determined all of a sudden. I don’t know why.”

 

“Well…that’s probably a good thing, right?”

 

She nods, looking at him and grinning happily. “Yes, I think it might be.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... quite the chapter to write. I'll admit, I struggled writing Gerson's scene. Trying to walk the line between keeping him from being too ooc, but also acknowledging that this was quite a few years before Frisk, and hence he'd be slightly different, and probably have everything together a bit more, since he's quite a bit younger, was difficult. Hopefully it didn't go too badly.  
> The Temmie scene was a fun one to write, since the hypotheticals of just how intelligent she/they really are, given the implication it's all possibly an act, were a lot of fun to explore. I'm a big fan of the Temmie Black-Market Boss idea, if that wasn't obvious.
> 
> Looks like Integrity's finally figured out how to Save, but it, admittedly, might be a bit late.  
> The next chapter's looking to be the one where a bit more of just why she ended up in the Underground is explored, but it's also likely going to be her last curtain call.  
> She's... probably not gonna get out of Waterfall alive. Poor girl.  
> Ah well, we all knew it was coming. 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	5. Little White Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s complicated.”
> 
>  
> 
> She glares at him, and Sans glares back. “It is, alright?”
> 
>  
> 
> “…But you lied.“
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh, like you can talk, Ms. _It’s a Long Story_ ,” Sans snaps before he can stop himself. “I’m helping you here when I barely know anything about you or where you came from. I don’t even know why you left the Ruins— Twice, I might add! For someone so big on honesty, you’re really keen on keeping your own secrets aren’t you?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Note: I lied, Integrity doesn't die... yet.

 The guards find them—or, more specifically, they find the guards—at the end of Waterfall, right beyond the cavern that bridges off into the entrance to Hotland. They’d vaguely debated trying to use the Riverperson’s boat to get into Hotland, but had quickly ruled it out at the risk that the docks were likely one of the first places guards would put under surveillance. So, instead they walk through the remainder of Waterfall, thankfully avoiding running into any other monsters, in relative silence—hoping, against all hope, that they will get there to find no guards have yet been stationed at the border between the two areas.

 

They aren't quite that lucky.

 

It’s the human that spots them first, the second they step out of the hall that branches off from the cavern and leads to the bridge, where three guards are standing idly. She grabs Sans’s sleeve to get his attention, and they do a quick about-face heading back into the cavern, walking quickly.

 

It’s fine, Sans thinks. They weren’t paying attention, they didn’t see. They just have to go back the other way.

 

“Hey kids! Wait up a sec!”

 

…Or not.

 

The human tenses for a second, looking as if she’s about to run. Sans puts a hand on her arm and shakes his head. They’ve already tried running from the guards once, with no success. There’s not a head start for them here or any bridging-off paths they could lose them in. Running away now should be treated as the last resort option. The guards don’t have any complete confirmation on the human, let alone what she looks like. Maybe they can put that to their advantage. They did get the cloak for a reason, after all.

 

He turns around to face the guard now jogging up to them, and the human, albeit reluctantly, turns with him, posture deceivingly relaxed aside from the slightly defensive stoop of her shoulders. Sans elbows her and she straightens up, just enough so that her nervousness is less obvious than it was.

 

The guard comes to a stop in front of them, and Sans offers him his most disarming smile. “Yes, sir?”

 

The guard looks them over and frowns. “What are you two doing out here? The whole Underground’s on high alert. People shouldn’t be out and about unless they absolutely have to—let alone a couple of kids on their own, without their parents. Haven’t you two heard there’s a human on the loose?”

 

The human blinks, her eyes wide, turning to Sans with a blank expression, and then looking up at the guard, confusion plain on her face. “No, we haven’t. Is there really? Our friend mentioned something, but we thought he was just being an idiot.”

 

Oh, she’s _good_ —and here Sans thought he was the innocent-act expert. The guard looks confused himself now, and Sans does his best to smother his amused grin before he notices. “He makes up stuff like this all the time,” he adds, just because he can. “He’s a bit of a paranoid git, really.”

 

Silently, he sends a prayer that Grillby, in all his omnipresence, never finds out he said that. Excluding the human, Sans really does only have the one friend, after all.

 

And honestly, between the two of them, Sans is probably the paranoid one.

 

The guard scratches his head, seeming rather lost. “…Right. Regardless, you really shouldn’t be out here right now. It’s…” He pauses. “Wait, where are you two going, anyways?”

 

The human’s eyes dart to Sans for a quick second. “We’re, uh, going to visit a friend in Hotland.”

 

The guard raises an eyebrow. “A friend?”

 

“Fuku,” Sans says quickly, thinking on the fly. “Fuku Fire. She’s the cousin of a guy I know in Snowdin. He asked us to run her a couple things, since he’s busy helping his parents with some stuff. It’s actually pretty important we see her today, so, uh, if we could just pass through…?”

 

The guard frowns. “Look, kid. I can’t just let a couple of children walk through Hotland unsupervised, you understand? There’s an imminent threat on the loose. I’m sure whatever stuff you need to deliver to your friend can wait until the human is caught.” He looks them over skeptically. “The business of a couple—what? Ten-year-olds? Can—“

 

“I’m twelve,” the human mutters sourly under her breath. The guard glares at her and Sans quickly steps on her foot before she says anything else to annoy him. The human scowls at him, and he shoots her a warning look before looking back up at the guard.

 

“Fine. The business of a couple of _twelve-year-olds_ can wait. We’ve got reinforcements arriving by boat into Waterfall soon. I’ll radio them to send one of their spare guards through to here to escort you two back to Snowin and to your parents, ok?”

 

Sans tenses. They can’t go back to Snowdin. Even if these guards don’t notice, one of the dogs will recognize the human’s scent in minutes. “But—“

 

“What’s the hold up?” Sans startles at the appearance of a second larger and scarier looking guard behind the first, and feels the human’s hand reach out and grab his own tightly, a slight tremble in her fingers. He squeezes back in reassurance, ignoring his own nerves quaking at the sight of the tall guard looking down at them with none of the already limited patience of the other guard.

 

“A couple of kids from Snowdin on their way to Hotland, sir. Apparently they didn’t know about the human.”

 

_Sir._

Shit. That means this is a squad leader guard. Sans watches the guard’s eyes sweep over him and the human appraisingly, before focusing back in on Sans, narrowing slightly. He gulps—another inexplicable feat of his impossible biology—and fights the urge to turn tail and run now.

 

“Snowdin, huh?”

 

Please let the suspicion he heard be his imagination.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Hmm.” The guard is still staring at Sans. “Y’know, there were reports of a young skeleton leading an unknown into Snowdin, right where the guard dogs picked up a possible human’s scent. Correct me if I’m wrong, son, but there aren’t exactly a lot of skeletons around, are there?”

 

“Um.”

 

Think. _Think._ What’s a good excuse?

 

“Wait.” The human’s eyes are wide and confused, convincingly so. “That was a human? Sans! You told me you were giving them directions!”

 

He blinks once, and she gives him a pointed look. Ah, he gets it now. Clever.

 

“I was! I’d never seen them before, honest.” He looks up at the guards, projecting all the false innocence he can manage, and then back at the human with his best pleading expression. “I gave them directions to the Capital, then met up with you to go to Hotland. I wasn’t lying.”

 

The larger guard makes a disbelieving noise, and the human glares at him. “If my _brother_ says that’s the truth, then it is.”

 

The first guard looks between the two of them and frowns. “…Your brother?”

 

“I’m adopted. Is that a problem?” The human’s voice is icy.

 

“No, no…” The poor guard says, visibly wilting at the death glare of a twelve-year-old. Sans does his best not to grin at his expression.

 

“Hm.” The other guard studies them closely, suspicion still visible in his face. “…Wait here.” He grabs the other guard by the arm and pulls him back to the third guard still standing by the bridge into Hotland. He motions at Sans and the human, and the three of them mutter indistinctly to one another, glancing back at them every few seconds or so.

 

The human relaxes slightly, some of the tension Sans could feel in the tight grip on his hand fading. She sighs, and for a second, her face displays all the fear she had been pushing back during the encounter.

 

“Nice going,” he whispers quietly, wary of the guards only a few paces away. “You saved my hide. The sibling thing was clever too, separates you from their percieved possible human and ties you to a monster, and—”

 

“And helps give a reason for us to be traveling together, yeah.” The human looks at him and grins slightly. “That’s what I was hoping, at least.”

 

“You aren’t new to this, are you?” Sans asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

 

“Just because I don’t like to lie doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

 

“Alright, kids.” They both startle as the first guard marches back up to them. “I’m under strict instructions to take you both home, and then, should your parents give permission, interview you about the possible human you interacted with, ok?”

 

“Uh.” Sans looks at the human, the same worry he’s feeling reflected in her face. “I’m not—“

 

“Great. C’mon.” The guard goes to put a hand on each of their backs to guide them back towards Waterfall, and the human, in a moment of panic, flinches away. Her foot catches on a loose rock, and Sans, realizing what’s going to happen a second before it does, tries to pull her up as her hand slips out of his and she falls backward, her cloak opening and the hood falling down as she hits the ground. The guard blinks in confusion at her now visible, rapidly paling face, and then squints in obvious distrust.

 

“Wait a second…”

 

Sans doesn’t give him any time to think, doing the first thing that comes naturally, and calling the magic that hums through his bones and dances across his fingertips. He throws one hand up, and a wall of bones, crisscrossed and interlocked in a deadly pattern, slams up in front of the guard, who jumps back in shock before he vanishes behind it. Quickly, Sans grabs the human and pulls her to her feet, dragging her into a sprint back through the cavern into Waterfall.

 

“I thought you said you couldn’t do magic!”

 

“I lied!”

 

“What?!”

 

“Is this really important right now?!”

 

Suddenly, a wave of magic throws them both off their feet, the cavern shaking. The guards trying to blast through the bone wall, Sans realizes. He stumbles to his feet and goes to help the human up only for another wave to throw them back down. Picking himself back up again, Sans does his best to hold his balance and ignore the third shaking wave that echoes through the shaking cavern, yanking the human to a stand. “C’mon.”

 

“Sans, the rocks!”

 

He looks up just in time to see a few small, but still big enough to be deadly, chunks of rock loosened from the shock waves fall down towards them as another blast rumbles through the cavern. He tries to dodge in vain, but barely manages one step before a rock slams into the top of his skull.

 

And in a crunch of pain, everything goes dark.

 

 

\\\\\\\\\

 

 

Sans comes to standing in the middle of Temmie Village, clutching the new coat for his brother, the human next to him. He takes one look around and sighs. “I’ve died and gone to Hell,” he mutters sourly, and the human laughs shakily, the sound almost hysterical. He turns to offer her a grin, and with a wobble his knees go out and he collapses onto the ground, his head saved only by the human diving to the ground and supporting his upper body before it can slam into the dirt.

 

“Oh my God, are you alright?”

 

“Fine, fine.” He closes his eyes and ignores the phantom pain that aches through his skull. “Just gimme a minute.” He frowns, the memories of the time that _just/never_ happened hazy. “Uh, rocks, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great. Always wondered what it’d feel like to have my skull caved in.” The human says nothing, and when he opens his eyes there are tears running down her face. “Woah, geez. What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “That was my fault, I—“

 

“No, it wasn’t.” He sits up with a groan. “I’m fine, see? No harm done. We just have to avoid that way into Hotland for now. Lesson learned. At least now we know you can do that time jump thing again.”

 

The human sobs and throws her arms around him, burying her face in the shoulder of his coat. Belatedly, as Sans wraps his arms around her in return, he realizes that, for all his nonchalant language, every part of him is shaking. Quietly, he buries his face in the human’s hair and feels a few tears leak out of his eye sockets.

 

Alright, to be fair, he had just died, sort of. He's allowed to feel at least a little rattled.

 

After a moment, he pulls back and they both sit up, the human quietly wiping the tear tracks off her face as he looks around the room, pointedly ignoring the stares of the Temmies that are around them. “So, uh. Not that I’m not glad we aren't all the way back at the Ruins door, but why’d you have to pick this nightmare of a place out of all of them?”

 

She looks around and shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I…picked it exactly. I just…” She frowns. “I wanted to go back—but not all the way to the Ruins. I don’t know why here. Just a feeling, I guess.”

 

“Hm.” Sans slowly gets to his feet, as does the human. “Well I suppose as much as this place sucks, it’s a lot better than some other options.”

 

She hums and nods, looking around. “But now where do we go?”

 

“Somewhere safe,” Sans answers. “We can’t get into Hotland by the bridge, and judging by what that guard said, we were right and the docks are out for now. We need a place to lay low where guards won’t find us and come up with a new plan.”

 

“You have somewhere in mind?”

 

“Yup. C’mon.” He motions to her, and they head out of the village, following the lights of the glowstools up and back towards inner Waterfall. Once they’re back in the long cavern connected to the glowstool room, the human nudges him in the side with a frown.

 

“You lied to me about being able to use magic.”

 

“…Yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

She glares at him, and Sans glares back. “It is, alright?”

 

“…But you _lied_.“

 

“Oh, like you can talk, Ms. _It’s a Long Story,_ ” Sans snaps before he can stop himself. “I’m helping you here when I barely know anything about you or where you came from. I don’t even know why you left the Ruins—twice, I might add! For someone so big on honesty, you’re really keen on keeping your own secrets aren’t you?!”

 

The human flinches back, stopping in her tracks and shrinking in on herself. Sans takes one look at her miserable expression, eyes downcast, and feels guilt churn in his nonexistent stomach. He of all people should understand why someone would keep secrets. Hell, she’s probably got a damn good reason for it. He sighs, rubbing that back of his skull sheepishly. “Look, that was…out of line on my part. I’m sorry.”

 

“N-no. You’re right.” She offers him a shaky smile, her arms crossing and hands hugging her elbows in a defensive posture. “Here I am letting you help me, putting your life at risk, and all I do is keep secrets about everything.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Sans says firmly. “I’m still going to help you.”

 

“Why?” Her voice breaks, and she seems close to tears. “Why on Earth would you continue to help me when you know nothing about me? Call us friends all you like, but at the end of the day you’re signing your death warrant over a person you barely know.”

 

 _“If it comes down to it, you don’t owe her anything,”_ Grillby’s voice whispers in Sans’s mind, and he shakes his head, ignoring it.

 

“I know you’re a good person, and that’s enough.”

 

She frowns miserably. “Is it, though?”

 

Sans goes to answer, and hesitates, realizing he doesn’t know what to say. The human pushes past him, heading down the hall and past the entrance to Gerson’s cave, disappearing around the corner. With a sigh, Sans tips his head back and studies the cavern hall ceiling, with its twinkling rocks embedded in the ceiling.

 

The thing is, she’s not wrong, but she’s not right, either.

 

Sans isn’t a person who generally does things because they’re the right thing to do. Sure, he respects monsters who do and thinks it’s a great mindset and all, but he’s never been able to afford to think that way. He's someone that always has had to look after himself and his brother, even before Waterfall, wherever that might be, something he knows deep in his bones. Someone who’s main goal is survival doesn’t have time to be hung up on doing the _right thing._

 

Yes, Sans tries to be a good person—but if he’s honest, the number of persons he’d risk his life for, excluding his brother, is slim to none. He respects Gerson, he likes Ignis and her husband, and Grillby is his best friend. But…

 

But at the end of the day, his mindset is, or at least was, pretty simple: keep yourself alive, so you can keep Papyrus alive.

 

Which is why the fact that, from the very first sign of danger, he’d chosen to help the human at the risk—and now, counting the rocks—cost of his own life, doesn’t make sense, even in his own rationale.

 

_Why?_

 

Maybe it's because he actually does want to do the right thing, for once. Maybe it's because she's just another lost kid, like him. Maybe it's because he’s spent these last couple years desperately searching for answers to who he was before the lower pools, before Waterfall, and the word _human_ was one he’d known without having to be told, in that part of his mind that knows Papyrus is his brother and his name is Sans, despite remembering nothing else about his past.

 

Maybe it’s because, for whatever improbable reason, the human is already his friend, somehow, and he can’t stand the thought of her dying.

 

Especially for the crime of just being human.

 

And that? That had to be good enough…right?

 

Vaguely, a part of him notes voices, increasing in volume, coming from somewhere around the area the human went, but it’s not until she screams, the desperate, terrified sound echoing through the caverns, that he’s knocked out of his stupor.

 

_“Stop! Let go of me!”_

 

In an instant, he’s running, terror giving him a burst of sudden adrenaline. He shouts…something _(It must have been her name)_ and rounds the corner. There, on the pathway leading to the docks, is the human struggling against the grip of two guards, while a third speaks quickly into a radio. Her hood falls down, and one of them reaches curiously to touch her hair as she snarls and snaps at him.

 

Sans doesn’t think, he waves his hand and calls his magic in a blast of blue sparks and flying bones that blinds the guards. Startling, one drops their grip on the human, while the other loosens their hold enough for her to kick hard at the backs of their knees, knocking them off their feet. The third guard grabs at her sweater as she turns to run, and Sans, instantly, is there, slamming into the guard with enough force to push him back and away from the human. With a yelp, the human grabs his coat and pulls him down in a crouch just as a spear, swung by a confused guard, flies over his head. She growls at the guard who nearly hit him, and whirls around with a dancer’s poise before kicking him solidly in the chest.

 

“Don’t touch him!”

 

The guard flies back, hitting the wall and slumping down, unmoving. Sans shivers. The Temmies weren’t kidding when they talked about the physical strength humans possessed compared to monsters.

 

“Oh my god.” The human takes a step forward, her eyes wide and terrified. “Are they…”

 

This time, it’s Sans who pulls her down as another spear flies right where she was standing a second ago. “He’s fine!” Well. Not dead, at least. “Now move!”

 

He calls another burst of magic, and unrefined, raw blue energy flies around the room, pushing the guards back. Grabbing the human’s hand, he drags her down the pathway towards inner Waterfall, shouts behind them indicating that the guards aren’t far behind.

 

“Sans!” the human screams, and he looks up to see the gap in the ground, the one that’s just too big to jump across, where the calm blue waters of Waterfall run through. Usually there’s a bird there to ferry people across in its own funny little way, but he doesn’t see it, and they don’t really have the time to wait for it to take them across one at a time, regardless.

 

In a split second, Sans contemplates their options. They can turn and fight, and everyone, themselves and the guards, could get hurt. The human isn’t going to fight to kill, while the guards might. And Sans…a crackle of blue across his fingers reminds him that what little control he usually manages to exert over his magic is rapidly fading in the face of his panic. Using his power to fight any more could result in unpredictable energy blasts that could hurt himself and the human. The human could die, and the time jump would just put them back in the same predicament, or the guards could capture them, and then they’d really be in trouble.

 

He looks at the gap, hears the yells of the guards behind them, feels the hum of energy in his bones, and makes a decision.

 

A stupid one, but really the only one they have.

 

“Jump!”

 

“Are you crazy?!”

 

“Probably! But you said you trust me, don’t you? Now’s the time to prove it! Jump!”

 

Their feet hit the end of the pathway. Only inches away from falling into the gap in the ground, Sans leaps for the empty air above the water. And the human, her face pale but without any hesitation, leaps with him. Focusing on their clasped hands, on the cool air around them, Sans pictures the lower pools, far away and safe from the guards.

 

Then Sans closes his eyes, and _glitches_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I sort-of, by accident, lied. This isn't Integrity's last chapter. Originally, I intended it to be, but the more I wrote the longer and longer the chapter got (at this point, I'm still not even close to finished), and I wanted to be able to put out an update to the story in reasonable time, so I cut the chapter more or less in half... Or, well, I cut like the first third off, more accurately.
> 
> I hope to update the story again with Integrity's proper final chapter in the next few days, but school's been really busy lately, so... We'll see. 
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Oh! Also, I'm not a very good artist, but in case anyone is curious, I've done some rough sketches of what Integrity looks like over on Tumblr [here.](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/137515262652/some-rough-sketches-of-nameless-integrity-child)


	6. And So You Called Out For Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Looks like the plastic kept it dry…maybe it still works?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Probably not,” Sans says, turning to keep walking. “Most of the stuff down here ends up here _because_ it doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.”
> 
>  
> 
> For a second, his mind jumps to his memories of waking up near here, lying on the edge of a shallow pool with his brother in his arms, both their clothing soaked like they’d been floating around in water for a while. How they’d pulled themselves from the water and wandered along the unfamiliar ground, calling for help, only to find no one had any more of an idea of who they were then they did.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> _(You called for help… But nobody came.)_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so the chapter got split up again, but it was getting ridiculously long and I wanted to update in a timely manner. So uh... Here.
> 
> ALSO. Quick warning for mentions of child abuse. If that's something you know you don't wanna read about, maybe skip this chapter or find a different fic that's a bit happier or something. Take care of yourself. Be smart. Love you. Bye. <3

They blink back into existence above one of the main waterfalls that runs out of the lower pools, and then, with a scream from the human, they fall from midair and into the rushing water. They both swim up and break the surface of the water, gasping for air, as the current pulls them along. Sans, in the fraction of a second, realizes they’re being swept downward, before registering what exactly that means and quickly grabbing at the banks next to them and scrambling for purchase, finger bones scraping over loose stones. The human glances behind them, her eyes going wide in realization, and quickly joins his desperate attempts to grab a hold of the shore, with little more success.

 

With a shout, Sans feels himself tumble over the sharp incline where the rushing water falls into the potentially endless abyss below, and thinks blearily that this is it, this is how he’ll die, once and for all.

 

A hand grabs his own, and his descent lurches to a halt, hanging by a thread as rushing water falls around him and into the darkness beneath. Looking up, he sees the human staring down at him and the void below with terrified eyes, her arms shaking as the hand holding his own locks tighter while the other clings desperately to a rocky outcrop.

 

Sans breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.” Death by eternal abyss really isn’t a way he wants to go out. “You alright?”

 

The human nods shakily, and then winces as her hand slips a couple inches on the outcrop and a few shards of broken rock tumble past them “B-but I don’t think I can pu-pull us up. E-even if I was strong enough, I d-don’t think this rock would hold.”

 

With a quick glance down at the black below, Sans flinches and tries to think quickly. They drop another few inches as the rock creaks and starts to break off, and the human’s face goes even paler. “S-sans if you’re going to do something, now would be a good time.”

 

“Alright, alright!” Sans looks up at the rocks above them, where he knows there are safe places to stand, and resolves himself to the inevitable. Quietly, he prays to whatever might be listening that his magic holds somewhat stable long enough to get them up safely. “Just…try not to panic, alright?”

 

Reaching out with his magic, Sans feels the human’s soul and grabs hold of it in a blue glow, doing the same to his own rapidly flickering one. The human frowns, and studies the glowing dark blue soul now visible in front of her. “What’s—“

 

She breaks off with a yelp as they both shoot up, Sans shaking slightly as he lifts one of his hands in a leading motion and focuses on keeping a tight grip on both their souls. Carefully, he guides the movement of their souls towards the rocky ground next to the waterfall, their bodies moving in tandem with the glowing souls. Once they’re well away from the edge, Sans releases the grip on their souls, and they fall to the ground, both landing on their feet and wobbling slightly. With a quiet noise of relief, the human straightens up and pushes the black mess of hair that had fallen in front of her face back, letting out a resigned sigh when part of it just swings back into place in front of the left side of her face. Carefully, she walks closer to the edge of the bank where the running water spirals down into the dark and watches it with cautious curiosity. “That was…close.”

 

“I’ll say. Not doing that again.” Gently, he uses his magic to grab hold of her soul again and drag her away from the edge. “Stay away from there. It’s making me nervous.” She grins at him, and looks down at the glowing heart in front of her before it flickers and disappears.

 

“What was that?”

 

Sans blinks. “Just your soul.”

 

The human frowns in thought. “Oh.” She lifts a hand and waves it through the air where the soul had been visible a few seconds ago. “…Huh.”

 

“…You’ve never seen your soul before?” The human shakes her head, and Sans can’t help the bubble of nervous laughter that spills out. “That…wow. You humans really are out of touch with this stuff, aren’t you?”

 

She shrugs. “I guess.” She opens her mouth to say something else and then breaks off into a violent shiver, her arms wrapping around herself in response. Frowning, Sans looks down at both of their dripping clothing, and the human shivers again, teeth chattering.

 

“Right. So…dry clothing would probably be a good idea.” Sans looks around the ground, and at the rock wall a few feet away from them where another waterfall tumbles down to the area they’re standing. It’s not anywhere he immediately recognizes, but the layout looks relatively familiar. He walks towards the rock face, the human following him, and studies it. It looks relatively easy to climb. “I’m pretty sure we want to go up here. I was aiming for the lower pools, but I’m guessing I overshot a bit and we ended up a bit further down. Not too far though, I think. Luckily.”

 

The human hums an agreement and reaches out a hand to find a handhold, hissing and pulling her arm back the minute her palm touches the rock. Sans looks down at her hand and winces at the small, sluggishly bleeding cuts and scrapes that are scattered across her palm and fingers from where they’d scraped against the rocks trying to get a grip while the water was pulling them down. Sans’s own hands have scrapes along the edges of the bones from the rocks, but the cuts on the human’s softer, less resilient skin look much worse. The human brings up her other hand and looks at it, this one possibly even worse than the other, and grimaces, before looking up at the rock wall again and back at Sans, who shrugs hopelessly.

 

“Don’t suppose you have bandages?”

 

“I think I’ve got bandages back at the place we’re going, but I haven’t got any on me…”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Maybe I could climb up and then use magic to pull you up after?” Sans lifts his hand and calls a spark of bright blue magic in his hand experimentally, then yelps when it flares out and hums with the kind of explosive energy his magic develops when he uses it too much or is in a stressful situation. Quickly, he shuts off the flow of magic and extinguishes the small blue flame. “Okay. Maybe not. We could…yeah, I’ve got nothing.” He glances at the human, who takes her backpack off and looks down at it with an indiscernible expression before pulling out the pink tutu still sticking out of it. Tossing her bag on the ground, she sits next to it and pushes up the silky topskirt of the tutu, and sifts through the strips of tulle that make up the base of it, before grabbing a strip and, with one vaguely mournful look at the tutu, yanking it free. She motions for Sans to sit as well, and hands him the strip of tulle once he has, before pulling another few strips loose. It’s not as good as a proper bandage, Sans notes, turning the piece over in his hands, but it’ll get the job done.

 

“Do you need some? I don’t know how much damage rocks can do to bone, but if it managed to do that to my hands…”

 

Sans quickly shakes his head. The human obviously values the tutu, for whatever reason. No reason to tear any more of it apart than necessary. Regardless, the human tears off another few strips and places them in front of him. He glares half-heartedly at her, but she just waves a hand.

 

“Don’t worry. I’d have to remove a lot more to do any real damage to it. It’s all repairable, anyways.”

 

Sighing, Sans takes the strips of tulle and wraps them, one at a time, around the scrapes on his hands. The human does the same, wrapping an extra layer around her palms and wrists once she’s covered the worst of the scratches. Wiggling her fingers, she nods her head and stands up, offering a hand to pull Sans up, and then grabs her bag and throws it over a shoulder. She takes one look at the rock face and then jumps up onto it, scrambling up with surprising confidence.

 

“Come on, slowpoke!”

 

Chuckling, Sans grabs a hold of a protruding rock, and begins the ascent up after her.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Eventually, after climbing to the top of the rock wall and trekking across a couple thin ledges along the steep edges of rock, they find their way to an entrance to the lower pools in the form of a small hole in a wall they manage to just barely crawl through.

 

Inside, the rocky cavern walls are lighter colors, the now high and airy ceiling speckled with glimmering rocks. Winding paths run along shallow pools of water and gently flowing streams that run down small waterfalls, before meeting and coalescing into one larger waterfall that tumbles out of a larger hole in the cavern wall, headed for the area they just left.

 

The minute they’re inside, the human takes one look around and smiles in the same way she had when talking about the Ruins. “Oh my god.”

 

“I know, right?” Sans remembers the awe he’d felt, the first time he’d taken the opportunity to properly wander through the lower pools, the same feeling he sees reflected on the human’s face. “C’mon, follow me.”

 

He leads her across the winding paths and down through another couple of small entrances between caverns. Here and there, getting more frequent the further in they walk, are small piles of human trash along the edges of the streams and spilling into the pools. At one of the larger ones, the human stops with a frown to inspect the broken pieces of electronics and household goods. “I know that game system…this is human stuff, right? How’d it end up down here?”

 

“See those waterfalls?” Sans gestures to the higher waterfalls that flow from higher-up gaps in the walls, nearer to the cavern ceiling, and the human nods. “Stuff washes down in those, presumably from some access point on the surface that branches off into different areas around Waterfall—we’ve got human junk lying all over the place in different spots where there are a lot of waterfalls.” As he speaks, another piece of junk floats down a stream and settles next to a pile. “The majority of it ends up down here though.”

 

“Huh.” The human blinks and then scrunches her nose in thought. “So is this where you go to get stuff to trade with the Temmies?”

 

“Yep,” Sans says, bending down and inspecting a slightly battered DVD case before slipping it into his coat pocket. “Most people in the human goods business collect stuff from the junkyard to trade, but almost everything there is easily destroyed when it lands there, since there’s no buffer to protect it from wherever it falls. And since it’s well known, what little that’s still tradable disappears fast. Not many people know about this place, so there’s more to collect, and as long as the water hasn’t damaged it, it’s usually in pretty good condition.”

 

The human hums an agreement, picking up a battered figurine and running a finger over the chipped paint on its face. Her eyes scan over the junk pile, widening when they light on something Sans can’t see. Chucking the figurine aside, she pushes the junk on top aside before pulling out a battered old polaroid camera in a plastic baggie.

 

“Oh, wow. I know a kid who has one of these. Cameras like these are really old, their grandmother gave it to them.” She pulls it out of the plastic bag and inspects it. “Looks like the plastic kept it dry…maybe it still works?”

 

“Probably not,” Sans says, turning to keep walking. “Most of the stuff down here ends up here _because_ it doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.”

 

For a second, his mind jumps to his memories of waking up near here, lying on the edge of a shallow pool with his brother in his arms, both their clothing soaked like they’d been floating around in water for a while. How they’d pulled themselves from the water and wandered along the unfamiliar ground, calling for help, only to find no one had any more of an idea of who they were then they did.

 

**_(You called for help…but nobody came.)_ **

 

Sans shivers.

 

Maybe that’s not the best thing to be thinking about right now.

 

“Aha!” the human says, and suddenly an arm is slung around his shoulders. He flinches slightly, then relaxes as he sees the human fiddle with the camera and turn it around, holding it out in front of them backwards.

 

“What are you—“

 

“Smile!” The human bumps the side of her head against his, and in spite of himself, Sans feels himself grin. There’s a flash, and then the human releases him, peering over the camera as it processes the image and slides out the polaroid. Carefully, she holds it and looks it over, before presenting it proudly to him. “Look! You actually smiled!”

 

Sans does his inexplicable equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “You do know I’m a skeleton, right? Technically I’m _always_ smiling.”

 

She waves a hand. “A magical monster skeleton. I’ve seen you frown—you can when you really want to.”

 

He shrugs and peers at the polaroid in interest. It’s not actually a bad photograph. His smile looks genuine, as does the human’s, their heads tucked together neatly, her dark hair standing out against his white bone. “What’re you gonna do with a photograph like that, anyways?”

 

“Evidence, obviously,” she says. “None of the other kids are gonna believe I really met a skeleton. I’ll show it off to them all once I…” Her face falls. “Once I get home.”

 

“Hey.” Sans nudges her side. “You’re getting home, ok? I’ll make sure of it.”

 

She nods, but her face is resolutely blank when she puts the picture and camera away in her bag, avoiding Sans's eyes as she slides past him and continues up the path. With a sigh, Sans follow after her, the two of them walking in silence without looking at each other.

 

Finally, the human breaks the silence. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sans blinks. “What for?”

 

“For what I said earlier. It’s not my place to ask you about your magic. Everyone has secrets, and I should have respected that.”

 

Sans looks off to the side. “It’s fine. I did technically lie to you, after all.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I…” She looks off to the side, hesitating, and then Sans feels a hand grab his, lacing their fingers and squeezing tight—the same hand that clung resolutely to his when he asked its owner to jump over an impossible gap just on his word. “I _do_ trust you. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re daft for leaping into this when it’s so dangerous. But…I trust you all the same. So…thank you. For helping me.“

 

Sans smiles and bumps his head against hers, squeezing her hand back. “No problem.”

 

“…Sans?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thank you, also, for…being my friend.”

 

“Don’t really have to thank me for that.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

“Well then…thank you for being mine.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

When they reach their destination, much further into the lower pools and below a couple rock shelves they have to climb down, Sans slips through the slight gap of an entrance that opens up to the small cave, and then pulls the human through, before gesturing grandly to the room.

 

“Behold.”

 

“Ooh.” The human looks around with interest. “Is this…where you and Papyrus live?”

 

“Yup.”

 

The human hums and Sans waits to fend off the inevitable questions about…well, everything. But, she just nods, and Sans sighs in relief. A slight wind drifts through the opening to the cave, and the human shivers. Sans glances down at the pools of water forming beneath both their feet and remembers that they’ve both been dunked in a river and then had to wander through several streams and pools. They’re still pretty wet, and, probably in the human’s case more so than his, cold.

 

“Okay, cloak off and all that,” Sans says, pulling his own coat off and chucking it in a wet, sopping heap on the ground. “Dry clothes before either of us, especially you, gets sick." He toes off his boots as the human does the same to her own, placing them to the side before taking off her backpack and putting it next to them. She shrugs off the cloak and tosses it on top of Sans’s coat, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivers. Rummaging around in the box near his bed that Sans keeps his clothes in, he pulls out a dry purple sweater and pair of black sweatpants for himself, and then grabs a dark blue pair of sweatpants, the longest ones he has, since the human’s just a bit taller than him, and a navy and white striped sweater. He looks them over, and then, as an afterthought, grabs a pair of thick grey socks and passes them all to the human, who has just taken her dance shoes off from where they were hanging around her neck and looking at the water still dripping from them with distaste.

 

“Don’t worry about those. We can hang up everything to dry outside. These should be alright, but if they don’t fit properly I can try and find something else that does, ok? You can use one of the spare blankets to dry your hair if you need to.”

 

The human nods and takes the clothes from him. “Thank you.”

 

He grins and waves his hand dismissively, grabbing his own change of clothes and slipping through the entrance to the cave. Quickly, he strips out of the damp sweater and pants he was wearing and pulls on the dry clothing, the warmth of the dry sweater compared to his previous one coming as a relief. After a moment, the human joins him outside, dressed in the clean outfit with the longer parts of her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, carrying her wet clothing. She dumps it in a pile next to Sans’s own and disappears back inside for a moment, returning with the cloak, his coat and both of their pairs of boots as well as her dance shoes. Quietly, showing her the line of wire interwoven with string he uses to hang clothing to dry, they string up the wet clothes—along with the dance shoes, using the ribbons—and then place the boots next to the clothing on a rock to dry. Once they’re done, the human takes a step back and surveys their work with a critical eye.

 

“Will it actually dry like that? There’s no sun here.”

 

Sans shrugs. “There’s no sun anywhere in the Underground. Stuff still air-dries. Maybe it’s the wind, maybe it’s part of the magic that keeps this place going. I don’t know.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Suddenly, the human’s stomach grumbles, and she flushes in embarrassment. Sans can’t help but laugh at her expression, nudging her in the side good-naturedly. “You hungry?”

 

She grins guiltily. “Starving.”

 

Neither of them have actually eaten in a while, Sans realizes belatedly. Since the time where they went to Grillby’s technically never happened, the human hasn’t eaten since she left the Ruins, assuming she ate there, and Sans himself hasn’t had anything to eat since this morning.

 

“C’mon then,” Sans says. “I’ll cook.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

They eat dinner, canned soup from one of the shops in Snowdin heated up on the small camping stove Sans had traded for over a year ago, outside in the main cavern, sitting on one of the rock shelves that protrudes from the walls, blankets grabbed from the cave wrapped around them to stave off the chill of the light wind that echoes through the cavern. The human eats in a rush, like she’s not sure when her next meal will be and wants to make sure she gets as much of this one before it’s taken away—which, admittedly, might be a decent idea due to the uncertainty of what’ll happen once they make their next bid for Hotland, but feels too much to Sans like something that is more commonplace for the human, given the way she doesn’t even pause to think about it. It’s a habit Sans is still struggling to break himself of, a long ingrained one that comes from years of not having enough to eat on a regular basis. The fact that the human has this same instinctive habit is, to Sans, an interesting fact that he files away along with what little else he knows about whatever life on the surface she came from.

 

Once they’re finished, they sit in silence, watching the glittering faux stars embedded in the cavern ceiling become more visible as the cavern slowly darkens through the magic that gives the whole Underground its pretend night and day cycle, slowly fading to an almost-blackness, save for the area they’re sitting, lit up by the glowing crystal Sans had grabbed along with the blankets earlier.

 

Watching the small stones twinkle brighter as the light fades further and further, Sans turns to the human, to see her reaction, to ask her about the comparison to real stars, only to find her looking down at her hands, twisting them together in a nervous pattern, her face unreadable.

 

“You alright?”

 

She hesitates, then tips her head up, studying the cavern ceiling with a distant expression. “My father used to lock me in the hall closet in our house. It…” She lets out a shaky breath, bringing her legs up to wrap her arms around them. “ It was always cramped and dirty, full of spiders and cobwebs because my parents never cleaned it. And it was always pitch black, no lights inside it. I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of my face…that’s—that's why I hate the dark.”

 

She pauses, and Sans wonder if he should say something, but the minute he opens his mouth the human continues. “It was a punishment: for bad behavior, for when I didn’t do something right, or when I made them angry. It was more frequent when I was younger, but he still did it occasionally as I got older, just to keep me afraid enough that threats about it would still work.”

 

Sans looks down. “I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m still going to help you.”

 

The human shakes her head. “And I meant what _I_ said. You shouldn’t have to help me when all I do is keep secrets. There are…" She sighs. "There are things you deserve to know. I mean…unless you’d rather not.”

 

Sans frowns. “It’s not like I’m not curious, but I’m pretty big on secrets myself. I don’t…I don’t want you to tell me anything you don’t want to, especially just because you feel some obligation to.”

 

She laughs hollowly. “Believe me, there’s so much there I want to just scream to the world. So much I’ve always wanted to tell someone, anyone who would listen. But I never could. I didn’t know how.”

 

Her arms go slack, falling away from her knees and to her sides as she stares out at the cavern blankly. Carefully, Sans reaches out and finds her hand, tangling her fingers with his in what’s quickly becoming their own gesture of reassurance. He squeezes her hand, and after a second, she squeezes back.

 

“It’s just…I’ve waited my whole life to find someone who would listen, and now that I have I don’t know where to begin.” She pauses in thought, her other hand coming up to tug on a loose strand of hair nervously. “They just…they hated me, Sans. They hated me from the minute I was born, and I’ll never know why. Nothing I did was good enough. I was never smart enough, never quiet enough, never as well-behaved as they wanted me to be. I was always a failure needing punishment. Bad grades on tests got me locked in the closet for hours. Good grades just meant I could do better. They were never happy.” She sniffs, wiping at tears slipping down her cheeks.

 

“They were always too busy working to look after me. If I wanted food, I had to get for myself, and clean up after. One time, when I was nine, I dropped a plate while trying to make a sandwich, it broke and got shards all over the floor. My dad slapped me so hard I had a bruise for a week. It…wasn’t the first time. I told all my teachers I had fallen off my bed and landed on my face. I don’t think they believed me, not any of the times I lied about that stuff, but no one did anything. My parents had important jobs, they donated a lot to the school and everyone looked the other way. I had to pick up all the shards by myself without anything to protect my hands, and they gave me nothing to eat but scraps for days. They said since I didn’t want to appreciate the food they worked hard to put on the table by being clumsy, I didn’t deserve it. After that, I learned to take food when I could get it, and to never, _ever_ be stupid enough to trip and break something else.”

 

The human lets out a shaky breath, rubbing more tears from her face. “Once I was ten, I was expected to do most of the chores around the house. They said I was old enough to take some more responsibility for my care. Everything had to be perfect, or they’d hit me or lock me away without food. It was so much work. My grades fell. They hit me more. By the time I was eleven, I skipped school most days so I could clean the house or try to steal food from one of the local shops. I couldn’t take extra food at home, they always noticed and punished me. It didn’t matter though. I was dumb and lazy, I was failing all my classes even before I started skipping because I kept falling asleep in class. I was just so tired. I could never sleep when they locked me in the closet. All the kids at school made fun of me, about my grades and how I was always tired and dressed in dirty clothes. In the end, it wasn’t worth the effort.”

 

She pauses, and pulls the blanket lying across her shoulders tighter around her. “I hated everyone. I hated everything. One day, I walked out and didn’t come home. It started raining and I hid under the awning of a dance studio. The teacher saw me and invited me inside, offered to let me join in with the class for the day. Then, she invited me to come back the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. She said I had natural talent. When my parents found out, they were furious. They went to the studio to tell her I wasn’t to come back, but they perked up the minute she started talking about natural abilities and opportunities. They paid for the ballet shoes and the lessons, and made me work it back later. They told me if I was good for nothing else, I could at least do this right so that I wouldn’t be a complete failure once I grew up." The human sucks in a deep breath. "I wouldn’t let them poison it for me, though. It was the only thing I could find happiness in, that I was good at. And I _was_ good at it. I learned in a year what most kids learned in four or five. My teacher said I had a future career in it if I worked hard enough.

 

“Then came the performances, the recitals, and they came along and did the old act: the loving, hardworking parents with the obedient child. I hated that the most, out of anything they did. This lie they sold to anyone who would listen. The… the only—” She breaks off, and a small sob escapes, her free hand wrapping around her knees again as she dips her head and cries. “The only times they told me they loved me was when there were other people around to watch. P-parents—“ Her voice cracks and she rubs desperately at her eyes. “Parents shouldn’t do that, Sans. T-they shouldn’t l-lie about loving their children. T-they shouldn’t act like they care and then turn around and refuse to even look at their child once they get home. I just…I just w-wanted them to look at me! To tell me I was good enough. To stop lying when they said they loved me. I just…” She sobs again, louder, her shoulders shaking, and Sans pulls her towards him, wrapping his arm around her as she buries her face in his shoulder.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Sans mumbles, resting his head on top of hers. For a moment, all he feels is _hate_ , pure and unbridled, towards the human's parents, and he can understand the loathing of humanity the Underground oozes. But then the human shifts again in his arms, and the feeling is gone. She is here, and she is human, and she is warm. “...Nothing they did was your fault.”

 

She shrugs and sits up slightly, still leaning against Sans. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I could have been better.”

 

Sans shakes his head. “You can’t think like that. Some people are just poison, they’ll never be happy. That’s not your fault.”

 

The human smiles sadly. “I know, but I can’t help but wonder if I was the reason they couldn’t be happy.” She sniffles and looks off to the side. “It wasn’t so bad, for a while. I went to lessons, I started going back to school more often. I thought things were getting better. Then…then my dad lost his job, and everything went sideways. He was so angry all the time, they both were. They fought constantly, and then turned around and took it out on me. They stopped letting me have food again, they stopped paying for the dance lessons. My teacher told me I was still welcome to come, but I was so ashamed about being the only person not paying I stopped going most days. I was too embarrassed to tell my friends at the dance studio what was happening. And then…” She hesitates, and one of her hands clasps at Sans’s sweater sleeve like a security blanket. “And then one day, I got caught stealing food from a shop. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I was just so hungry! The police took me back to my parents, they were so angry. My father slapped me and then my mother kicked me until my arms and legs were bruised all over.” She pulls up a sleeve with shaking hands, and Sans's gaze falls heavily on faded bruises that look like they’ve formed recently, and then been subsequently touched up with healing magic.

 

“I was desperate the next morning. I hadn’t eaten anything but a stolen candy bar in two days. So I got up early to steal some food from the kitchen downstairs. I figured I’d deal with the consequences later.” She looks down at the bruises at her arm in contemplation. “But I made a mistake. I hadn’t slept…I was tired and clumsy. I tripped and broke the bowl of oatmeal I’d made. They woke up and were so furious— I hadn’t made that mistake since I was nine. They made me pick up all the shards on my hands and knees and clean up the spilled food, they wouldn’t even let me eat it after it had been on the ground, and then they locked me in the closet until it was time for school. I stole more candy bars from the front window of a shop on my way to school, I didn’t care, what more trouble could I get in if they caught me? When I got to school, the kids just laughed at me, and the teachers all wouldn’t even look at me. They knew what had happened. They didn’t care. After classes, a bunch of kids cornered me and made fun of me, pushing me around and throwing my bag around. I was so angry, not just at them, but at everything. I…I lashed out. A boy tried to steal my ballet shoes and I kicked him—hard. He fell down, and I kicked him again, and again. I kicked him so hard I probably broke some of his ribs.” She lets out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was so angry, it was like I couldn’t even see what was happening. He was crying, begging me to stop. But I couldn’t. I just kept kicking him and screaming. Everyone was yelling. Someone got the teachers, one of them pulled me off him…they must have called the police, I heard their sirens. I knew what was coming next. I was so afraid, I knew this might just be the time my parents locked me up and left me to die, once they found out what I’d done. So I smashed the back of my head into the teacher that was holding me to make her drop me, then I grabbed my bag and I ran.”

 

The human pauses, looking up to study the glittering cavern ceiling. “I ran and ran, kept away from the main roads, and eventually, I ended up at Mt. Ebott. Everyone…everyone knows the stories about it, that the people who go up it never come down, how it’s the perfect place to go when you don’t want to be found, when you want to disappear.”

 

Sans looks at her, things slowly clicking into place. “You…”

 

She shrugs. “I couldn’t go back, and I didn’t want to try to go forward. I was just so…tired. So I climbed the mountain. I found the hole at the top. I…I jumped.” Sans can’t help the quiet gasp he lets out. He’d been expecting that, but…still. The human laughs bitterly, and looks off to the side. “ _That’s_ what I meant when I said there were things you deserved to know. I wasn’t supposed to survive this long, Sans. I wasn’t supposed to survive at all. I came down here without any intention of coming back up. You really don’t owe me anything…if I end up dying down here, it’s just a delay of what should have already happened. I wasn’t expecting to live. If I don’t, you haven’t broken any promises.”

 

The human avoids looking at him as Sans studies her face, but flinches slightly as he finds her hand again with his own and grabs it tightly. “You want to live now though, don’t you?”

 

She lets out a sound that’s a mix between a chuckle and a sob, nodding her head as she wipes the tear tracks from her face. “Yes. God help me, but I do. There’s…there’s so much beauty down here, so much hope despite the fact that most of you are prepared to live your whole lives and then die down here without ever seeing the sun. It…makes me hopeful as well. I’m not—“ She sighs. “I’m not going to die down here just so some disgusting king can take my soul to go after humanity. There are things up there worth protecting. There’s a lot of bad people, but some decent ones as well. So many good people would die, and so would so many good monsters.” She looks down. “I want to live. I want to see the stars again. I want…I want to tell people about what’s down here— find a peaceful way to break this barrier and get you all out. I’m just…scared. I don’t want to hurt anyone again. And I don’t know what happens even if I do get out. I have nowhere I can go.”

 

“You survive,” Sans says simply. “You get as far away from them as possible, and then you survive. Not any harder than that.”

 

“I…guess not.”

 

“You want to live, you want to get out,” he says.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then that promise is still worth something.” She frowns, and he holds up a hand before she can argue. “It doesn’t matter what brought you down here. The important thing is that you want to live now, which means that, yes, I’ll help you get out, even if it is risky. You’re my friend, I care about what happens to you.”

 

A small smile flickers across the human’s face. “Thank you.”

 

Sans shrugs and squeezes her hand. “You’re welcome. So, uh…is that why you left the Ruins? Because you wanted to get back to the surface?”

 

She laughs, a genuine one this time. “Actually, I think I could’ve stayed all my life down there. The monster who found me, she was so kind. She healed my bruises the best she could, she gave me food and a room to sleep in. It felt…” Her face falls. “It felt too good to be true. And then the voice started talking to me.”

 

Sans makes a questioning noise, and she waves her hand in a hopeless gesture. “There’s…something else in the Ruins. Something…very angry, and very, very sad. It clings to your anger, your fears, turns them against you. It started whispering in my ear, telling me about how this was all just an act, about how she would turn on me, like all my worst nightmares, unless I stopped her first. All it wants is to hurt people, and it managed to find the part of me that wanted to hurt people, the part that attacked that boy just because it was easier to be angry at him than at people I couldn’t fight back against. One night, I woke up in her room holding a knife. I was terrified, scared that I might hurt her, scared that she might hurt me. So...I left.”

 

The human is crying again, tears dripping down her face as she looks at the ground. Sans hesitates, and then makes a decision.

 

Trust has to work both ways, after all.

 

“I lied about my magic to you because I lie to everyone about it.” The human looks up sharply, and Sans grins miserably. “Monsters are supposed to be born with a certain amount of power depending on their soul. They might need some training to learn how to access it fully, but they’re always born with control over it. I… can’t. I wasn’t kidding when I said a lot of the regular rules don’t apply to me. I can do things that should be impossible. Monsters can’t teleport, not even Boss ones. It breaks some sort of general rule of magic that applies to monsters. That blue magic I do with souls? Other monsters can cast it, but only as a sort of gravity-enhancer or reverser. I’ve never met another monster who can use it like I do. I’ve got way too much power, and no idea how to control it. I can’t tell others…even if they believed me, I don’t know what they’d do. Magic like mine, it should be impossible.” He shrugs. “It’s why I don’t really use it unless I have to. I can only safely control it for so long before I risk losing my grasp on it and hurting someone.”

 

Sans shivers, remembering a few times where he’d had close calls, when his magic had threatened to spiral out of his reach of control, and breathes out, focusing on the human’s hand holding his, the twinkling lights around the cavern, all things that remind him that he’s here and he’s safe. “I don’t know where I came from. I woke up here with my brother, no memory of anything but our names and some general instincts I can’t explain. I know what it’s like to be lost, truly lost. That’s why I helped you, at first—because you were just another lost kid, and I knew what that was like.”

 

She grins, with just an edge of melancholy. “We really are a pair, aren’t we? Just two more people the world didn’t know what to do with.”

 

Sans hums. “I prefer…survivors.”

 

The human sighs, and leans against him, bumping the side of her head against his like he had earlier. “Yeah, survivors, that works. That’s…good.”

 

In silence, they watch the last of the light fade as night settles in the Underground. Sans knows they should really get up, move back inside the cave, but it’s so warm, so comfortable here. Eventually, the human drifts off to sleep, and he does as well.

 

He dreams of stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off! I'd like to say thank you for all the really sweet comments I've gotten about the story. I don't reply to a lot, mostly because compliments turn me into a nervous, happy mess, but just know if you left a comment you made my day! It's great to here people like the story or the characters, it makes me feel more confident about what I'm writing, especially when I get nervous about trying to find a good line between serious and silly considering I'm currently writing from the view of, and about, two really terrified 12 year olds. So, in short, just... Thank You!
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, this was... exhausting to write. Trying to do Integrity's story justice was hard, to say the least, but I think it turned out alright.
> 
> Next chapter: Integrity takes more photos, Sans learns to swing dance, and Shit Goes Down... (but nobody came).
> 
>  
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	7. But Nobody Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~  
>  _…You called out for help (but nobody came.)_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd apologize, but you all signed up for this. You knew what was coming.

The next morning, they drag the blankets back inside and bring in the laundry from where it has indeed dried on the line without any sun to speak of, much to the human’s poorly hidden surprise. Sans happily switches back into his favorite light blue and grey striped sweater, and his oversized blue coat, and the human exchanges the borrowed sweatpants for her now dry tights and shorts, though ends up keeping the warmer striped navy and white sweater at Sans’s insistence in favor over the thin light brown one she had been wearing.

 

Oh, and the socks. They spend five minutes fighting about it because the human feels guilty enough about taking the sweater, despite Sans reminding her several times that it doesn’t fit him anyways, and is way too big for Papyrus, but eventually she relents and keeps the socks as well.

 

It’s only after all that fuss that the human admits quietly that she rather likes her new striped sweater much more than the old, threadbare one she had been wearing previously.

 

“Of course,” Sans tells her. “That’s proper Snowdin-made clothing, much better than anything else for the cold and damp around here. Besides, it’s traditional for kids to wear stripes in the Underground.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“No idea. I think it just sort of started up a long time ago and everyone just rolled with it.”

 

“Huh…weird.”

 

After, they sit down and eat breakfast—crab apples, which the human insists taste nothing like actual apples and in fact have a flavor more reminiscent of saltwater, and then get down to business.

 

“Right,” Sans says, taking a bite of his now half-eaten crab apple. “I think it’s obvious we need a new game plan—or at least _any_ kind of pre-designed and thought out plan.” The human nods, biting into her crab apple and subsequently wrinkling her nose at the taste. “First things first, in case everything goes south again, it’d be good to know where we’re gonna end up…preferably not back at Temmie village, at any rate.” He looks at the human contemplatively. “Do you think you can do here whatever you did there?”

 

She shrugs. “Maybe? I’ll try, but I don’t know how to trigger it. It just kind of seems to come and go.” She closes her eyes and frowns. “I think…”

 

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it, we can figure it out later.”

 

“No.” She shakes her head. “Just…give me a minute.” Her hands fall to the the pink tulle still wrapped around her palms and wrists, one hand reaching over and fingers picking at the fabric encasing the other, and Sans makes a note to give her the proper bandages for her hands later. “It had something to do with…” Her eyes snap open and she stares at Sans. “Survival. Earlier you talked about survival. Wanting to survive.”

 

Sans blinks. “…Yes.”

 

“The will to live…” The human murmurs, and her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh! Determination! That’s what I said earlier, isn’t it?” She jumps up, almost vibrating in excitement and half-dancing around in a circle. “It’s like…a will to keep living? I think?”

 

Sans hops up and watches her carefully. “You sure?”

 

She pauses for a second, and then nods resolutely. “Determination! I’ve got it! I’ve…woah.” She tips to the side, and Sans quickly reaches out to steady her.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Yes. I think I just…” She closes her eyes for a second, then opens them and grins at Sans. “Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure I just did it. The thing.”

 

“You did the thing?”

 

She snorts, and then doubles over in laughter, leaning on Sans. “Y-yes, Sans. I’m pretty I did ‘the thing’.” She pauses, and then breaks into laughter again. “Okay, I’ve decided. That’s what we’re calling it from now on: ‘doing the thing’.”

 

Sans rolls his eyes. “So puns are lame, but you think that’s funny? Terrible.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “You’re terrible.”

 

“Maybe, but I think it’s pretty _humerus_.”

 

“… Did you just…?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He sniffles, and pretends to wipe a tear from his cheek. “And here I thought you didn’t have a _funny bone_ in your body.”

 

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

“Alright, fine.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

“… So why can’t you just do your teleport thing and jump us to the barrier? I know you said your magic is unstable, but you managed it once earlier,” the human says, staring up at the cavern ceiling with a distant expression.

 

They’re lying on the ground outside the smaller cave, pillows grabbed from the room stashed under their heads as they watch the twinkling rocks with disinterest, the human’s arms crossed and feet resting on Sans’s thighs, one of his hands resting idly on her ankles while the other is lying at his side. They’ve been here for near an hour, throwing out ideas and tossing some back and forth before ultimately abandoning them. Sans sighs, tapping out a rhythm with his fingers on the human’s ankles while he tried to formulate a cohesive response that will make sense to her.

 

“It’s not that simple.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well, first off, it’s not teleportation, really. That’s oversimplifying it a bit. It’s more like…convincing the space around me that I should be in another place, or that it should lead one way instead of another?”

 

“…I don’t follow.”

 

“Of course you don’t.” He groans and flings his free arm over his eye sockets. “It barely makes sense to me. It’s like…okay, so the Underground itself literally runs off and exists solely on magic. It’d collapse in on itself otherwise, right?” The human nods. “So magic, or at least magic capability, exists everywhere around here. I’m not sure if that’s just an Underground thing, or if some lesser version of that exists on the surface too. There probably is—just less accessible if there’s generally less magical capability being passed through human lines. Anyways, that’s not what’s important. The important thing is that, here at least, there’s a lot of magic capability to manipulate. So, if pushed in the right way with enough power, you can create a sort of…shortcut? Glitches in the way things _should_ be working. Basically, it’s a matter of using my magic to activate and convince the magical capability around me I should be _here_ instead of _there,_ or that walking one direction should lead to another place in another direction all together. That make any sense?”

 

The human hums quietly. “I…think so? It’s like, um, turning potential energy into kinetic energy, right? Only you’re using it to move from one place to another while skipping the in-between of the two points…”

 

Sans grins. “You’ve got it. Of course, that’s just me guessing about how it works, really. I’ve never met another monster who can do it, and from what little I’ve managed to get out of asking around there never has been another monster who has.”

 

“Then how’d you learn to do it?”

 

“No idea. I just…knew how.”

 

“So wait, even if it’s not straight teleportation, can’t you just…convince the potential magic or whatever that we’re supposed to be at the barrier?”

 

Sans shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I can only do it with places I’ve been before, places I’m familiar with. Otherwise, I have no concrete image to focus on for where I’m supposed to go. I’ve never been near the castle, and I’ve only been to the outskirts of the capital once or twice—not enough to have a specific spot to jump to.” He waves a hand. “Besides, it’s really unstable magic at the best of the times…I still can barely control it, even less so than the rest of my magic. The longer the gap I’m jumping, the less stable the connection is. Using a shortcut with another person, also, apparently, makes it worse, considering making the jump here shouldn’t have been that difficult, and we instead ended up totally in the wrong place. The only jumps we could probably safely make are between point in Waterfall, and I’d rather not risk those unless we have to—and I mean really, _really_ have to.”

 

The human frowns. “Why not?”

 

“Look, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, with these time…restarts. Don’t get me wrong, they’re really convenient for, y’know, staying alive, but…you’re barely getting a handle on how to create a new return point, and we have absolutely no clue how this particular magic works. What happens if something goes wrong with a shortcut and we get stuck in the gap between? How can we know the time magic will jump us back? We’d be combining already unstable magic with magic we know nothing about. It could kill us, permanently. Or worse.”

 

“That’s…” The human makes a face and sighs. “Yeah. Fair point. So, no shortcuts except short distances through Waterfall, and only during an absolute emergency.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“So that’s out. Any other ideas?”

 

“…We could try getting to the boat?”

 

“Oh, yes, Sans. Let’s try the thing we’ve previously agreed six different times won’t work.”

 

“Hey, if you’ve got a better plan, I’m open to suggestions.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

In the end, the don’t make it far enough to even make the choice between the boat or the bridge. The minute they even get close, taking the long, winding, hidden paths behind waterfalls and through false walls that lead down near the main walkways to Waterfall’s exits, they’re spotted by a hoard of guards patrolling the area in a concentrated formation.

 

Sans barely has time to feel the blow of a spear glancing off his side before everything goes dark and he wakes up dizzy and disoriented back in the cave, phantom pain echoing along the ribs that were just struck, were never struck, while the human sits and shivers, arms wrapped around her abdomen where the spear hit her. They stay like that for near half an hour, curled up on the floor and tucked up against each other for some semblance of comfort, staring blankly at the wall while they try to forget the sensation of dying once again.

 

After a while, they pick themselves up and try again.

 

It doesn’t work any more the next three tries than it did the first time.

 

Neither of them cries any of the times after they die, and each consecutive time it takes them less time to pick themselves back up off the ground.

 

Sans can’t help but wonder what it says about them—that it only takes half a dozen times for them to start to get used to the feeling of dying.

 

It’s…kind of scary. He’s not keen on discovering a day where it stops affecting him at all.

 

After their fourth time waking up again in the cave, the human sits up after a few minutes of mental readjustment with a frustrated growl and digs through her backpack, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen and marking four tally lines on the sheet. After a pause, she strikes through the four lines already marked and adds a sixth line following the set of five. “Six,” she mutters, handing it to Sans with a sigh. Looking it over, he nods and tapes it up to the wall.

 

Probably a good idea to start keeping track, just in case.

 

With that in mind, he grabs a blank notebook, a spare for when Papyrus finishes filling up his current one with drawings, and fills out a few lines.

 

_One—first meeting. Attacked by guards exiting Snowdin, returned to Ruins door._

_Two—cave-in fleeing guards from Hotland entrance bridge, returned to Temmie village._

_Three—attacked by guards patrolling main pathway near dock, returned back to lower pools._

_Four—attacked by guards patrolling main pathway near dock, returned back to lower pools._

_Five—attacked by guards patrolling main pathway near dock, returned back to lower pools._

_Six—attacked by guards patrolling main pathway near dock, returned back to lower pools._

The human glances over his shoulder, and he shrugs. “Never hurts to keep track, though I doubt we’ll be forgetting anytime soon. Can you create a new return point?”

 

She shivers and nods, closing her eyes for a moment in concentration. A brief ripple seems to pass through the air around them, and Sans wonders vaguely if that’s the time magic at play with the magic capability around them. “…Done,” she says. “So…obviously there’s no clear way of even getting to the bridge or boat anymore from here, no matter what way we go about it.”

 

“We could try waiting them out for a couple days and seeing if they lower the number of guards on patrol,” he says, “but that also takes the risk that they might just start sending guards through the less inhabited parts of Waterfall after a while, looking for us, since they already know we’re trapped in here.”

 

The human looks up at him from the notebook sharply. “You think they’ll try to weed us out.”

 

“Maybe. It’s probably not worth the risk at this point. I don’t like the possibilities of what could happen if they get us cornered down here. Dying and returning here is, right now, a much better scenario then getting captured alive and brought to Asgore.”

 

“Are there any other exits out of Waterfall?”

 

“That I know of?” Sans says. “No. The only other way out would be to backtrack into Snowdin— but not only is that the longest path back, it puts us right where the canine guard unit is. There’s no sneaking past them to get to the boat…the Hotland dock will probably be guarded as well, anyways.”

 

“Well, it’s not like we’ve got any other options. We might as well try it at least once.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

 _Seven—cornered by guards patrolling south end of Waterfall, didn't even get close to goal of Snowdin, returned back to lower pools_.

_Eight—took alternate route to get around patrolling guards, spotted and chased by other guards, nowhere near Snowdin, returned to lower pools._

_Nine—guards again. Nowhere near Snowdin. Back at lower pools._

xxx

 

 

On run ten, they make it as far as the old statue that always has rain falling down on it. They’re drenched, the back path they’d taken to avoid the guards not saving them from the part of Waterfall that perpetually rains day in and day out, for no reason apparent to Sans other than because it simply can.

 

This, of course, makes even less sense to the human.

 

“Look. I get that this place is made of magic and stuff— ut what’s the point of it raining for no reason?! No one even lives over there, and there’s no way around it! It’s absolutely pointless!”

 

Sans shrugs. “Not arguing with you on that.”

 

“There should at least be umbrellas or something you can use! It’s ridiculous that no one can pass through without—” She stops short at the sight of the statue. “Without…”

 

“You alright?”

 

“Hm? Yeah. I just…” She walks over to the statue and runs her hand over the worn stone. “Hey, what is this?”

 

“That? Just some old statue—a shrine, maybe? Gerson would probably know, I’ve never asked.”

 

“Looks like a memorial.”

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“Look at this.” He walks closer and she grabs his hand, pulling him down to where she’s crouched at the base of the statue, observing old carvings in the rock. The worn surface makes them hard to see from a distance, barely an indent against the smooth rock face, but definitely there. “The way it’s spaced out could be a name and then a set of dates? But it’s not English, or any other language I’ve seen.”

 

Sans peers at the light carvings that shape out strange symbols. “…It might be the old Boss Monster language? I’m not sure.”

 

“Monsters have different languages?”

 

“Course.” He pauses. “…Well, they did. Not as much anymore. I read about it in a book at the library. Before the war, there were lots of different monster languages. Boss Monsters had their own language, so did some species that had larger, self-sustaining populations. Back then, there were so many monsters that a lot only lived in communities with their own species or a grouping of similar species. After the war, though, the monster population was decimated and without the space luxuries they used to have. There weren’t the resources available to sustain independent communities in the Underground, and there were so few monsters left of each species that there weren’t enough to form a separate community in the first place. So, the population became more mixed, and it wasn’t convenient for everyone to speak their own language anymore. There are some older monsters that still speak their own old language, and pass it on to their kids, but most people just speak Common because it’s easier and makes more sense—especially since most monsters now are a mix of different original species, monsters wouldn’t have survived down here this long without interspecies relationships.”

 

“Huh,” the human says, “That makes sense—oh, wait! Look, there’s another one!” She motions to another grouping of carved symbols below the other one, just as illegible as the previous line. “Two names?”

 

“Maybe?” Sans says.

 

“There’s something else…” She points out a small mechanical box resting on the base of the statue below the carvings. “Is that some sort of…music box?”

 

“Looks like it.”

 

“Do you think it still works?”

 

Sans runs his hand over it and frowns at the murky brown water left clinging to his finger bones. “Probably not. Looks like the water’s damaged it, or is at least keeping it from playing.”

 

“Hm.” The human taps the side of the music box once and then stands up, observing the featureless face of the statue. “What a shame.”

 

They move on and make it about ten steps before there’s a shout and a sharp whistle through the air. The human gasps and collapses against Sans’s side, and arrow sticking out of her chest. He barely has a second to feel a small twist of panic, before everything goes dark and shifts backwards.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The next run, the human brings with them the umbrella Sans keeps stashed in the cave, glaring up at the faux-sky with a vindictively victorious expression as they walk as fast as they can, eager to stay ahead of the group of guards that caught them last time, through the rainy section of Waterfall.

 

“How do you like that, huh? I’ve beaten you at your own game, sky!”

 

“You’re yelling at a magic-based cavern ceiling that has no known sentience whatsoever.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

When they reach the statue, the human stops again, her expression considering, and then props the handle of the umbrella in the curve of its arms so that the top hangs over the head of the statue and shields it from the rain. The minute the rain stops falling onto the stone, the music box chimes to life, a quiet lullaby echoing from it.

 

“Not so broken after all, then,” Sans says, as the human steps back next to him, both of them observing the music box quietly. After a moment, Sans hears a sniffle, and glancing to his side, he sees the human wiping tears from her cheeks, crying despite the small smile on her face. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, It’s just…it’s such a sad song.”

 

“Really?” Sans closes his eyes and listens properly to the music. “It sounds pretty happy to me.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Just listen.”

 

The human scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “…I don’t hear it.”

 

“Well what does it sound like to you?”

 

“Like…something gone. Something that isn’t going to come back no matter how much you want it to.”

 

“Huh.” Sans pauses, listening to the melody again. “I suppose that’s there too.”

 

“What do you hear?”

 

“Something…happy. Love. It sounds like a lot of love to me. And family.”

 

“Oh…yes. I think I hear it now.”

 

“It’s all kind of…”

 

“Wistful?”

 

“Yeah. Maybe it can be both happy and sad at the same time?”

 

“…Maybe it can.”

 

 

xxx

_Ten—made it as far as the old statue. Turns out it might be a memorial? Guards used arrows this time.  ✍✍✍_ _hates rain, declared war on sky. Returned to lower pools._

_Eleven—brought an umbrella this time. Accidentally fixed statue’s music box. Guards used arrows again. Returned to lower pools._

_… ✍✍✍_ _liked the music box’s song, even though it made her sad._

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, tipping back and flopping on the ground. Next to him, he feels the human do the same. Turning his head, he sees the human attempt to push her hair off her face, before turning to face him and offering a shaky grin. “I really hate arrows.”

 

He sighs. “Yeah. Same.”

 

The human makes a frustrated noise and runs a hand through her hair, glaring at the ceiling. “Well, this sucks.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Oh! Wait. Idea.” Sans lazily watches as the human rolls up and grabs at her backpack, digging through and pulling out the polaroid camera. “Behold!”

 

“Ugh, that thing again?”

 

“Shush.” The human rolls back over onto the ground next to him, her hair flopping onto his face. Pushing it off with a noise of complaint, he regains his vision to see the human holding the camera above their heads, angling it so that their faces will be in the center of the picture.

 

“Is taking a photo really your big idea?”

 

“Shushhh! Now smile!”

 

He does, albeit grudgingly, raising a hand to quickly squeeze a peace sign into the corner of the frame. Once the lens flashes, the human sits up, waiting for the polaroid to print out. The minute she sees it, she rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder. “Peace signs are tacky. You’re tacky.”

 

“Wrong,” Sans says, closing his eyes. “I’m a master of wit and a well-respected member of high society. Very fancy.”

 

The human giggles and flops backwards, shifting onto her side with one hand braced under her head and poking him in the face with the other. “Trash,” she says, but her voice is fond.

 

“Best trash around,” he answers in a faux-serious tone. “So, anyways, what was that for?”

 

She raises an eyebrow and pushes herself up onto her elbow so she can do a quick jazz-hands. “Happy twelfth timeline. Felt we needed a picture to commemorate.”

 

Sans blinks, and then does his equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Is that really something we should be celebrating? It means we’ve died eleven times, you know.”

 

A shrug. “Hey, the way I look at it, it means eleven miscalculations we won’t make again anytime soon—learn from your mistakes, and all that. Besides, that technically also means we’ve died and _come back_ eleven times, which is surviving. Kind of.” She pauses. “And I just like photos.” He snorts, and she shoves him. “Shut up. I didn’t…exactly have a lot of happy photos back at home.”

 

“No?”

 

“A couple with my dance teacher and some kids from dance classes, that’s about it. My parents didn’t exactly take a lot of photos with me…not like I’d want to keep any of those, anyways.”

 

“…Huh.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing, just…” He grabs the camera and aims it at her face. “Photo bomb!” She shrieks and dodges the aim of the lens, scrambling to her feet. Laughing, he jumps up and chases after her, flinging his arm around her shoulders or grabbing her arm every chance he gets in order to angle both of them into his guess of the camera’s view and pressing the shutter, the human attempting to dodge him the whole time, screaming about how he’s going to break the camera because _it’s practically an antique, Sans!_

 

The end result is a good dozen pictures that are blurry around the edges and, for the most part, only have parts of their faces in them. The human shakes her head as she looks over all of them, but then turns around and tapes them all up on the wall next to the tally paper anyways, along with the previous two she’d taken, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. After, she marks another tally on the sheet, and then closes her eyes, both of them shivering as the slight ripple of magic Sans is getting good at noticing runs through the room. He joins the human at the wall and takes an appraising look at the messy photographs. “True works of art, I do say.”

 

“You’re a dork.”

 

“Not arguing that.” He studies the growing line of tally marks on the paper and winces. “Hey, with you creating a new return point each time we come back here so we can keep our notes and stuff—how much real time has passed?”

 

The human blinks. “I…don’t know. Pulling out her phone from her shorts pocket, she flips it open and looks at the little numbers blinking in the corner of the screen. “It’s barely been an hour, if that.”

 

“Seriously? You’re joking, right?”

 

“Look for yourself!” She hands him the phone, and he stares at it in disbelief. She’s right—it’s barely been an hour in real time since the human created the first restart point here and they made their first run for an exit from Waterfall. “It feels like it’s been days.”

 

“Nonexistent time,” the human says quietly. “Everything we do from here on out, unless we create another restart point down the line, is flexible and could potentially never happen.” She shivers. “It’s…kind of creepy, when you think about it. Do you think anyone else feels everything resetting? Do they realize they’re doing everything twice, three times?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sans says. The human’s right, though, it’s kind of a scary thought. He trusts her to only use the time power she’s been granted for the sake of their survival, but the thought of someone else with those powers is…worrying, to say the least. Still… “Doesn’t stop us from feeling like that time has happened, though, I suppose. I feel like I haven’t slept in days.”

 

The human grins, tugging at the loose strands of her hair sheepishly. “Same. I know theoretically we’ve just woken up a couple hours ago and eaten breakfast—but it feels like forever ago.”

 

Sans thinks it over. The worry of having the guards corner them here is still real, but after walking through the lower pools so many time it’s obvious that this isn’t top of the search list for the guards at this point, and since any time wasted here would be irrelevant in the overwhelming odds of them likely dying again and time jumping backwards… “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

The human’s eyes are desperate. “…Nap?”

 

He sighs in relief. “Nap.”

xxx

 

 

When Sans wakes up, the human is gone.

 

There are technically two "beds" in the cave made from an old mattress cut in two, which Sans had pulled some serious Temmie-related favors for, piled with mismatched blankets and various pillows, particularly on Papyrus’s one, as he had developed a fondness for fluffy and soft things recently. But, both Sans and the human had ended up curled up on his bed together, fingers laced tightly at their joined hands, the human’s free hand clasping the front of his coat while he clung to the sleeve of her sweater, her head tucked against his in a silent reassurance to both of them that they were still here, still alive and breathing despite the realities that never happened, that, for all the joking and bravado, were still present and very there in the backs of their minds.

 

So naturally, the minute Sans opens his eyes and realizes the human is no longer there, and, upon observation of the cave, isn’t anywhere else visible, he shoots up in a panic, yelling her name as he attempts to free himself from the blankets. It’s only once he trips on the fabric still caught around his ankle, sending him crashing to ground with a groan as his skull smacks into the cave floor, does he hear the quiet music playing from outside the cave entrance. Pushing himself to his feet, he tiptoes to the opening and peeks out.

 

The music in question, a soft piano medley, is playing from the human’s phone, flipped open and resting on top of a rock. Next to it, the human is carefully moving to the music in small twists and spins, balanced on the toes of her dance shoes, the ribbons wrapped tightly around her ankles. She’s wearing the tutu, which fans out around her in an odd contrast to her sweater, only making the dark blue and white stripes of it stand out against the pink of the rest of the outfit—but it suits her.

The human catches sight of him and drops out of her spin onto the soles of her feet, grinning sheepishly, and he offers her a quick thumbs up. “Looks good. You dance really well.”

 

She flushes in embarrassment and looks off to the side. “I’m not that good. I still have a lot to learn.” She pauses, and looks at him in confusion. “What’re you doing out here? I figured you’d take as much time to sleep as possible.”

 

Sans shrugs. “I woke up and couldn’t find you. Panicked, just a little bit.”

 

“Oh.” The human shifts and her face looks guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t think of that.”

 

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe just warn me next time.” The quiet music playing from the phone reaches a crescendo, and Sans picks it up curiously. “Hey, where’d you even get a phone, anyways? Your parents didn’t exactly sound like the type to buy you that sort of thing, especially not one good enough to play music.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no. They wouldn’t risk giving me that sort of independence. My dance teacher bought it for me. Said she needed some way to communicate with me about class times—but I’m pretty sure she just really did it because she felt sorry for me. She loaded a bunch of music on it for me to practice with, though, so…that was cool of her.”

 

Sans stares down at the phone in his hand. “Did she know? About…everything?”

 

She shrugs. “I don’t think so. She might have had some idea, maybe—but I like to pretend that had she really known everything she would have done something. She was the one person who really seemed to care about me…even if I was just probably another investment for her.”

 

Sans glares down at the phone. “The more I hear about humans in general, the more they seem to suck.”

 

“They’re not all bad.” Sans looks up at the human, and she offers him a lopsided smile. “There were some nice kids in my classes, and I think my dance teacher cared in her own way. I can’t judge all of humanity on a few bad people.”

 

“But there were so many people that looked the other way.” He feels a lurch where his stomach should be, the faintest impression of a feeling, the kind he’s come to associate with the lost memories of before this, before Waterfall. “People shouldn’t just…ignore kids that need help.”

 

“They made those choices, and I don’t know their reasons," she says. “That doesn’t make it right…but maybe they were afraid, in their own way. I don’t know. I…want to believe there are good people out there. I can’t blame everyone for something that isn’t their fault. Taking my anger out on the wrong people is how I ended up down here in the first place.” Sans grumbles and she grins, nudging his shoulder. “Hey, it’d be stupid to judge you, or Grillby, or any other monster for the choices your king has made about humans. You’re here, helping me. That makes you and King Asgore different. That makes you better. Would it be fair to hold the beliefs some monsters have about humans against you?”

 

Sans sighs. “Okay, fair point.”

 

The song still playing from the phone ends, and a new one starts up, fast and jazzy. Instantly, the human’s eyes go wide, and her whole face lights up. “Oh, I love this song!”

 

Sans blinks in confusion. “Wait, aren’t you a ballet dancer? Why do you have jazz music?”

 

The human waves a hand. “Just because I primarily learn ballet doesn’t mean I never learned other styles. We did a couple contemporary dance units and stuff in some of my classes. I ended up liking the jazz music so much I tagged along to a few of the swing dance classes.” She hums and taps a foot to the rhythm, before looking at him contemplatively and then grinning. “Y’know, I was never able to find a dance partner the same height as me.”

 

“No.”

 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

 

“I can’t dance!”

 

“I’ll teach you!”

 

“But—“

 

“Sans.” She puts the phone down and grabs his hand, dragging him into a more open spot of ground. “I’m teaching you how to swing dance, and it’s going to be loads of fun, and you’re going to be perfectly good at it. Now shut up.”

 

And so he does.

 

Hours later, after Sans has tripped up both himself and the human several times, she releases him from the impromptu dance lesson to grab lunch for the both of them. Looking through the stash of food he keeps in the cave, he opts for the pair of cinnamon bunnies he’d been stashing for a surprise for Papyrus. Chances are, eating them now won’t matter—time will reset back to before this even happened, unless they get it right this next go, in which case Sans can live with having to buy another couple of cinnamon bunnies. He figures the human will probably like these a bit more than the crab apples, anyways. She’s right, they are kind of salty, somehow.

 

The low murmur of the human’s voice from outside the cave catches his attention, and grabbing the food, he slips outside the cave entrance, stopping short at the sight he sees in front of him. There’s a monster, small and fishlike, floating in an eerie way in front of the human, who’s crouched down and talking to it quietly, her hand outstretched between herself and the monster, holding her phone as it still plays the soft music.

 

In an instant, Sans is there, glitching in between the human and monster before he even stops to properly think about it. He growls at the small monster and it darts back with a yelp, staring fearfully at him. It makes to move forward again, and he snarls, throwing his arms out to make sure the human stays behind him and trying to look as threatening as possible.

 

“Sans!” The human gabs his arm, and pulls it so that he’s facing her. “Stop it! You’re scaring them!” He glances at the small monster, now cowering and shivering as it whistles quietly in distress.

 

“We don’t know—“

 

“They were just curious about the music! They weren’t trying to hurt me!”

 

“But—“

 

The human leans forward and bonks her forehead against his, startling him into silence.

 

“Ow.” He rubs his skull and glares at the human, who glares back. “That hurt.”

 

“Good! You were being dumb! Not everyone is a guard, idiot! Not everyone…” She glances at the small monster, and lowers her voice. “Not everyone knows what a human looks like. They really were just curious about the music.”

 

He sighs, but nods. “Okay. Fine.”

 

The human relaxes. “Thank you.” She lets go of his arm, and he flops backwards onto a rock, sitting and munching on his cinnamon bunny grumpily as the human sits with the small monster, showing them the different classical pieces on the phone, humming along with them quietly to the melody. The monster has a nice voice, as does the human, and together it’s quiet pleasant to listen to, but that doesn’t stop Sans from spending the whole time watching the monster carefully, ready to jump in the moment they try to materialize and grab the human’s soul.

 

They do no such thing, of course, and after a while the monster floats off as quietly as it arrived, the human joining him on the rock he’s sitting on, accepting the cinnamon bunny he offers her.

 

“Are you still being grumpy?”

 

“They could have been dangerous!”

 

“But they weren’t, have a little trust.”

 

“I only trust people I explicitly know aren’t going to try to kill me.”

 

“You trusted me before you knew anything about me.”

 

“That’s…different.”

 

The human snorts and throws an arm around his shoulders, leaning the side of her head against his. Tilting his head up, he watches the glittering stones on the cavern ceiling, less visible in the afternoon light then at night, but still there. “We’ve got to get moving, you know.”

 

The human sighs and looks to the side, retracting her arm. “Yeah…I know. Can’t stay here forever. Let me just get out of my dance shoes and back into my boots.” She stands up and disappears back into the cave. Closing his eyes, Sans counts to ten, and tries to mentally prepare himself to go out and likely get killed again.

 

 

xxx

 

 

After that run, they implement a policy of taking a break every few returns to the lower pools, for the sake of their sanity. Just because Sans is getting more used to the feeling of dying, doesn’t make it any less exhausting—and the human seems to feel the same. Food, a nap, and a little quiet time keeps it all from feeling like too much.

 

Oh, and the dance lessons. The human refuses to give up on those as well, no matter how useless he proves himself to be.

 

 

xxx

_Twelve—we took a break for a bit. Might do those more often if we don’t find a way out soon.  ✍✍✍_ _is trying to teach me how to swing dance, emphasis on trying. We ended up trying out a new route to the bridge and boat from a back entrance to the lower pools, didn’t work. Guards caught us, back to spears this time. Returned to lower pools._

_Thirteen—tried the back entrance again, didn’t work any more this time either. Spears again, returned to lower pools._

_Fourteen—same as above. By now it’s rather established that no matter what guards we run into they recognize us instantly, even if  ✍✍✍_ _is wearing the cloak. Descriptions of us must have been passed out to all the troops. Maybe if we try different clothes altogether?_

_Fifteen—nope._

 

 

xxx

 

 

“No, you have to—Sans! Are you even listening!”

 

“Totally.”

 

“What’d I just say?”

 

“Um.”

 

“Oh my god. Get up. We’re doing this again. Now, follow my lead. Left foot, then right…there you go!”

 

“…I’m never going to get this.”

 

“Yes, you will. Have a little faith in me, will you?”

 

“I have plenty of faith in you, just not in myself.”

 

“Oh, shut up. You break the rules of reality and levitate objects and people with magic—you can learn to dance.”

 

 

xxx

 

_Sixteen—we tried a new route climbing across ledges and waterfalls in order to pass over the guards’ heads. They spotted us and shot arrows. One hit  ✍✍✍_ _and she fell. I watched her hit the ground. Not trying that anymore, no matter what she says. I never want to see anything like that again._

_Seventeen—tried waiting a few hours and then going down the original route we were trying in the first place. Didn’t do any good._

_Eighteen—waited till nightfall this time. We made it a bit further, but they spotted us eventually._

_… ✍✍✍_ _has informed me sea tea tastes nothing like actual tea, I’ll have to tell Gerson._

xxx

 

 

The monster keeps coming back, whenever the two of stay more than a few hours. They don’t seem to have any memory between timelines, just like all the other monsters, but definitely have at least developed some kind of instinct that tells them to check out this area, for whatever reason.

 

Every time the monster comes back, the human sits with them for as long as they stay, playing the music on her phone—which conveniently returns to full charge with every time restart—for them and humming along in sync together. Occasionally, the human talks to them quietly, seeming to slowly come to understand their quiet, singsong language.

 

“Their name is Wren,” she tells him once, after the third or fourth time the monster comes around. “Apparently they live in another part of Waterfall with their sister…Shyren, I think was her name.”

 

“To be honest?” Sans says with a sigh. “As long as they’re not reporting us to the guard, I don’t care who they are or where they’re from.”

 

Still, every time the monster comes around, he sits outside and watches quietly. When the human asks, he pretends it’s still to make sure the monster isn’t a threat, but at this point it’s more just because he likes the music.

 

Not that the human has to know that.

 

 

xxx

 

 

_Nineteen—switched it up and tried the longer walk back to Snowdin this time. Didn’t even make it to the statue. Guards with arrows are quickly become my least favorite._

_Twenty—tried that route again at night. No luck. This is starting to feel like we’re beating our heads against a wall without getting anywhere._

xxx

 

 

“…Do you ever think about just stopping and fighting back?”

 

“…Yes. But I try to ignore it.”

 

“We could probably take them, y’know. A monster's physical strength is no match for a human’s, and if I could keep my magic under control long enough…”

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. Never again.”

 

“But…what if there’s no other option?”

 

“There has to be.”

 

 

xxx

 

_Twenty-one—wasn’t even the guards this time. We were walking,  ✍✍✍_ _slipped, hit her head, fell into the river. I jumped in after her, but I couldn’t get her up in time. I watched her drown. It was…well, everything I said about getting used to this? I’m not. That was terrifying, not being able to help her._

xxx

 

 

“Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Now spin with me. Twist.”

 

“These steps are all too hard to remember.”

 

“It isn’t about the steps, those are just to give you a loose idea on how to move your feet. It’s jazz music, Sans. You’ve got to feel the rhythm and just…go.”

 

“Oh…so, like…”

 

“Yes! You’re getting it now.”

 

“Heh…I guess I am.”

 

 

xxx

 

_Twenty-two—bridge route, again. We’re getting across less distance each time. I’m worried the guards are starting to get kind of…impressions about where we’ll be, like that small fish monster. How long can we keep this up?_

xxx

 

 

“I miss Papyrus.”

 

The human looks up from where she’s marking the latest tally on the sheet tacked to the wall. The wall in question has quickly become covered with photos they’ve snapped between runs—nice ones, blurry ones where Sans has ambushed the human with the camera, ones where they’re pulling silly faces, even a couple candid photos of the human dancing or Sans hunched over the notebook he’s been recording their runs in, pen sticking out of his mouth while he glares at the pages.

 

“You could go and visit him. Wouldn’t hurt for just one go.”

 

He shakes his head. “They’ve got descriptions of me circling the patrolling troops as well. Besides, I can’t leave you alone.”

 

“I’d be alright.”

 

“Not risking it. If the guards come you’re likely going to refuse to fight, even to protect yourself. Someone has to be there to do it for you.”

 

She frowns, pulling out her cell phone and waving it in front of him. “You could always call him?”

 

Sans stares at the phone. It’s tempting, but… “It’s barely been a few hours in real time since I last saw him. If I call, he’ll know something is wrong. He’s smart like that.” He sighs. “I’ll be alright, I’ll see him soon.”

 

“If you’re sure…”

 

“Of course. We have to find the right way out eventually.”

 

“…Right.”

 

 

xxx

 

_Twenty-three—Snowdin route this time. I was right, the guards seem to be finding us faster and faster each run. That isn’t a good sign._

_Twenty-four—we waited a few hours before going, and barely made it out of the lower pools this time. This definitely isn’t a coincidence anymore. They may not remember, but their subconscious is pointing them in the right direction._

_Side-note: Next time  ✍✍✍_ _asks to have her hair braided, wear mittens. Hair strands caught between bone joints is an unpleasant experience for both parties involved._

 

xxx

 

 

“Hey, what’s your favorite color?”

 

“Red, why?”

 

“Just curious.”

 

“…What’s your favorite?”

 

“Blue.”

 

“What kind of blue?”

 

“Dark blue. Navy-ish. Like the night sky before it goes black.”

 

“Like your soul?”

 

“Oh, wow. I didn’t think of that. That’s—yeah. That color.”

 

“I like that color too.”

 

 

xxx

 

_Twenty-five—tried that back entrance out of the lower pools that we've tried a couple times before. I thought that maybe since we’d used that less often there’d be less guards hanging around. We made it a bit further. Maybe that’s the way to go from now on. If we get far enough, I know a round-about path that’ll bring us near the Hotland bridge._

xxx

 

 

“Dodge!” Sans ducks just as an arrow flies over his head, pulled into a run by the human for the one gap between the soldiers visible. They’d been cornered by a group of guards as they were walking, right at a place there’d never been guards patrolling before. They’d been so surprised that the guards had managed to back them towards a wall, and they were now desperately trying to escape before the guards surrounded them properly.

 

“Look out!” He pulls the human to the left just as a spear swings out at her. Looking around, he desperately tries to refind the gap between the guards they’d been aiming for, before he hears the human scream, sees an arrow fly at her, and shoves her out of the way. There’s a dull thud of pain as something pierces through his skull and then everything goes black.

 

When he wakes up back in the cave, the human slaps him across the face—hard.

 

“Ow!” He glares at her. “What was that…” He trails off, staring at her. The human’s hair is hanging in a mess in front of her face, which is pale and streaked with tear tracks. “Are you alright? What happened?”

 

She sobs and tackles him, hugging him tightly and burying her face in the shoulder of his coat. “You died, you idiot! Never do that again!”

 

“I was just protecting you! That arrow was going to hit you!”

 

“And instead it hit you!”

 

“So? Dying is kind of what we do, at this point. It wasn’t permanent.”

 

“Sans!” She pulls back and glares at him. “The magic only works when _I_ die! You were dead and time kept moving! We’re lucky I got hit a second later! What if they’d stopped? If I was brought alive to the king you’d have still been dead.”

 

“Oh…” The human whacks him on the shoulder, and he winces. “Sorry.”

 

“You want to protect me, numbskull? Don’t leave me alone! Better I die first and we know time will reset than you die and it’s left to chance.”

 

“I promised you I’d keep you safe.”

 

“Then keep yourself alive. You can’t keep your promise if you’re dead, you dumb skeleton. Promise me you’ll never do that again, promise!”

 

“Alright, alright…I promise.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Never again…unless I have to.”

 

“Sans!”

 

 

xxx

 

 

_Twenty-six—we’re running out of ideas. This long route using the back path looked the most promising, but we’re getting caught faster and faster each time. I’m starting to think there may only be one option left._

 

 

xxx

 

 

They’re curled up on Sans’s bed, tucked up against one another, both of them staring at the ceiling with eyes that don’t see anything. The human’s holding one of his hands between hers, tracing the chips in the bones and places where the joints hold themselves together in the impossible, magical way that allows him to survive as a mere skeleton and a soul, nothing more. She sighs and links her fingers with his in one hand, her other grabbing at the sleeve of his coat.

 

“…It doesn’t scare me, anymore. Dying.”

 

Sans turns to looks at her, while she glares down at their joined hands in exhausted frustration. “The first time it happened, I thought _‘Oh my God, is that really what I tried to do to myself? Dying is awful, I never want to experience that again’._ But then it did happen again, and again. Now…it almost feels normal. It’s scary. That’s not something I ever wanted to get used to.”

 

Sans sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Me neither.”

 

“Watching _you_ die, though? It’s _terrifying_.” He blinks, and turns his head to stare at her. She stares back, a sad smile playing at her lips. “Every time you die before me, even just a millisecond before, I’m so afraid that this is the time they’ll catch me instead of kill me, that I’ll never be able to go back and you’ll stay dead this time, permanently.”

 

“You think I don’t feel that way, too?” he says tiredly. “When you die, when I have to _watch_ you die….I always think that this’ll be the time it won’t work, that time will just keep moving and you’ll be gone.”

 

“At least then you’d be safe.”

 

The hand holding hers tightens. “Don’t say that. I don’t want any future where you’re not alive.”

 

“Papyrus needs you more than me. I’m expendable. No one needs me if I don’t come back.”

 

“ _I_ need you,” Sans says quietly. The human’s eyes go wide, and then she sniffles, rolling over and burying her face in his coat. He lifts a hand and runs it through her hair, ignoring the risk of the strands getting tangled in his joints. “I need you. So much.”

 

And it’s scary, this realization that Sans had previously contemplated and then subsequently attempted to ignore in his own personal form of denial—that this person, this person who is neither his beloved little brother nor his best friend of near two years, is someone he would do anything to protect.

 

But it’s true. Somehow, the human has become his friend…hell, his _family,_ now.

 

“I’ve never had a person I need before.” Sans freezes, and the human lifts her face, propping her head on the folds of his coat right above his sternum. “I’ve never…had someone I’d die for before.” She looks down. “Now I do, and it’s…terrifying. You’re…you’re my favorite person in the whole world, y’know.”

 

Sans grins. “And you’re mine…excluding Papyrus, obviously.”

 

She makes a face. “Yeah, you’re right. I change my mind. Papyrus is my favorite person too, you can be second.”

 

“You’ve met Papyrus once!”

 

“He left a good first impression.” Sans snorts, and the human grins, rolling back next to him, the side of her head pressed against his, their hands still joined.

 

“Stay,” he says quietly. “Just…stay. The guards will stop looking eventually. Papyrus has always wanted a sister. I can trade for another mattress with the Temmies if you want your own bed. Grillby could come and hang out when he’s not working. It’d be good.”

 

“And live my whole life in the lower pools?”

 

“We’d find some way of making people think you’re a monster.”

 

“Sans…” She turns and faces him, butting her forehead against his. “It doesn’t work like that. Even if I never left this cave, they’d catch on eventually. I can’t…I can’t put you and Papyrus in danger like that.”

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers, closing his eyes and feeling a few stray tears leak out.

 

“Hey, hey…” A soft hand traces the bottoms of his eyes sockets, wiping the stray tears. “Hey, look at me.” He does, and the human offers him a shaky smile. “No one’s going to lose anyone, ok? W-when I get to the surface, I’ll find people who can open the barrier. If humans made it, surely we can break it. I’ll come back for you. For Papyrus, Grillby, the monster in the ruins, everyone. We can watch the real stars on the surface.”

 

“R-right.” Sans grins the best he can. “You’re right. And you can show me what a real apple is supposed to taste like.”

 

“And we can enter a swing dancing contest, I’ve always wanted to try one.”

 

Sans groans, and the human giggles, poking at his face. “What’s wrong? You’re almost good enough now.”

 

“Oh my god, go to sleep.”

 

“Okay, okay! Geez. No sense of humor!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“…Don’t worry, Sans. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

“…Yeah.”

 

 

xxx

_Twenty-seven—we’ve talked it over and decided. Neither of us are keen on this, it really is a final resort…but we haven’t got anything else with even a chance of working._

_…I just hope I can manage it._

_It has to work. It has to._

 

 

xxx

 

 

 

They pack like they’re not coming back, something they haven’t bothered with in more than a few runs. The human stuffs her old sweater into her backpack, along with her dance shoes and tutu, and some snacks Sans insists she pack, in case they get separated once they get to Hotland. She looks over the wall of photos wistfully, and then selects the original one she’d snapped when they’d first found the camera, slipping it into the front pocket of her bag. Sans offers her the pick of the lot, but she refuses.

 

“They’ll all get damaged in my bag,” she tells him. “You’ll just have to hang onto the rest for now. Your wall was boringly plain, anyways.”

 

Once they’ve finished packing, they mull around for a bit under the pretense of pretending to straighten up the messy piles of stuff lying around the cave, before the human eventually just sighs and looks at him. “We can’t put it off forever. It’s not like we’re definitely leaving. It may not work.”

 

Sans shrugs. “It really is kind of our last big crack at it, though. If this fails…I don’t know what we’ll do.”

 

“We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t fail, then,” the human says firmly.

 

“It’s…really unstable magic.”

 

“I trust you. If you say you think you can control it for a few short bursts, then you can.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“C’mon.” She grabs his hand and tugs him outside of the cave, stopping in the clearing where she’s been teaching him to dance. Squeezing his hand, she looks at him expectantly. “Entrance to the hidden pathway outside the lower pools, the one that leads to the main path near the boat. You can do it.”

 

Nodding, he closes his eyes, focusing in on the human’s grip on his hand, the air around them, humming with magic, responding to his own. Visualizing the spot outside the path entrance, he turns it into an unspoken command whispered to the space around them— _there, not here._ _There_ _**is** here._ There’s a lurch, and he feels the world around them glitch as they shortcut.

 

Opening his eyes, he finds the human grinning at him, the hidden pathway entrance behind their backs and not a guard in sight. Quickly, he presses his hand against the rock and it vanishes. Slipping through, he pulls the human in after him. “Right. Straight down here, and we should end up just by the pathway near Gerson’s. From there, it’s just a quick shortcut to the Hotland bridge.”

 

“Let’s go.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

Their first real problem emerges when they reach the end of the hidden pathway. Stopping right outside the exit, Sans feels the air around them with his magic and shakes his head. “It’s too confined in here, not enough energy for me to safely attempt a shortcut.”

 

“So we go out of here, and then we shortcut. Simple.”

 

He winces. “What if there are guards?”

 

“We’ll have to take that chance. No point in staying in here if we can’t make the jump. Besides, unless they’re right outside, we’ll be fine.” The human reaches forward and presses a hand to the rock in front of them, which vanishes the minute her fingers touch it.

 

There are three guards standing right outside the exit, staring at them in shock.

 

Sans blinks. “Fuck.”

 

One of the guards reaches towards them, and instantly they’re scrambling backwards, turning and trying to dart back up the path. Behind him, Sans hears a high-pitched scream, the human’s hand slipping out of his. He glances back and sees the largest guard with his arms wrapped around the human, holding her up in the air as she kicks and screams. Doing an about-face, Sans shoots forward and rams into the guard. The guard stumbles back slightly, and then glares down at him, removing one massive hand from the human and reaching down as if to grab him too. Without thinking, he snarls and calls his magic, grabbing the human’s soul and the guard’s in a light blue glow and pulling them in opposite directions. The human shoots up into the air behind him, and the guard is slammed backwards into the wall. Seeing the other two guards make a hasty move towards him, Sans grabs their souls as well and throws them into the wall, grinning in grim satisfaction when they crumple to the ground and stay there slumped against the wall.

 

“Sans!” He hears a shout behind him, and turns to the human as she stares at him with a fearful expression. Eyes going wide, he looks back again at the unmoving guards and feels his magic falter and collapse, the human falling to the ground. Quickly, he rushes to her side, trying to pull her to her feet while also checking her for injuries. “Oh my God, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” She straightens up, and looks at him, before her eyes focus on something behind him and her eyes go wide. “Guards!” She grabs his hand and breaks into a run, dragging him along the path. “Can you shortcut?!”

 

He glances down at his spare hand, still crackling with excess energy from his attack on the guards. “I…no.”

 

“Alright, hang on.” The human dodges to the side, leading him to a sharp incline and scrambling up as fast as she can, pulling him up behind her until he catches onto the idea and starts climbing up after her. It’s a small side path he’d shown her on the rough map he’d drawn of Waterfall when they were planning this—one that consists mostly of difficult to climb rock walls and thin ledges, but one that leads straight to the Hotland bridge entrance.

 

Hearing shouts behind them as they reach the top of the incline, Sans follows the human, sprinting the best he can on such a narrow path, and praying that the difficulty of this route will slow the guards more than them. They jump across a gap in the rock, pulling themselves onto a higher-up ledge, mindful of the noises that mean the guards are still behind them.

 

There’s a whistling noise, and the human yelps and rears back to avoid an arrow that impales itself on the wall next to her head. Her foot catches on a loose rock and she falls back with a squeak, tumbling off the ledge. Sans winces as he’s pulled to his knees by the sudden weight hanging off his hand. The human dangles in midair, her eyes going wide as her backpack slips off her shoulder. “No!” Grabbing the bottom of it, the zipper slips open and the tutu and ballet slippers, which had been packed on top, fall out and into the river below.

 

Sans hears the shouts of the approaching guards, and quickly grabs the human’s soul in his magic, tugging her up and back onto the ledge. He grabs her backpack out of her free hand and slips it onto his shoulder, tugging on her hand in his to get her moving from where she’s stopped, frozen, staring at the rushing water her prized possessions had disappeared into. “C’mon, run!”

 

The human startles, then follows, the two of them hurdling boulders and scrambling up slopes as fast as they can. They’re getting near the end of the path, and Sans begins to wonder if they really can make it if they move fast towards the bridge and take the guards patrolling it by surprise.

 

And then he trips on a crack in the ground below them and they both fall off the pathway with a shriek, rolling down the steep rock face until they hit the flat ground below with a loud thud.

 

“Ow.” He hears the human whimper. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Sans lifts his head, and looks up at the startled guards standing in front of them at the entrance to the Hotland bridge. One of the guards hesitantly takes a step forward, lifting his spear, and in an instant, Sans is on his feet, pulling the human out of the way and behind him. He hears yells behind them signaling the pursuing troop of guards’ arrival, and winces.

 

“I know you said you weren’t keen on fighting, but it’s looking like we won’t have much of a choice.”

 

The human growls, glaring at the storm of guards appearing from a curve in the pathway, their weapons drawn. “Bring it.”

 

The guards run at them, spears swinging, and Sans falls instantly into a pattern of dodging flying weapons and pulling the human out of their trajectory, only for her to turn around and do the same for him. In between, he grabs souls with his magic and throws them and their corresponding monster owners away from himself and the human as he launches the odd spray of bones and blasts of blue energy to keep the guards at bay, all the while with the human ducking and twisting around him, sending any guards that get near her flying back with a solid kick to the chest.

 

Slowly, the number of still attacking guards begins to dwindle, and Sans thinks, just for a moment, that they might just make it through here alive and into Hotland.

 

And then, a huge guard, decorative markings adorning their armor identifying them as a commanding officer, appears in front of him, raising and then launching a spear right at his chest faster than he can dodge it, flashing his soul into view as the natural magic of the spear draws it out.

 

Just as the spear is about to pierce through his soul, a weight slams into his side, knocking him to the ground. His skull clanks against the rock painfully, and as he sits up dizzily, he watches his flickering, blurry soul fade and disappear from view. “What…?”

 

There’s a quiet, choked gasp of air, and his head whips up to see the human standing shakily in front of him, the spear meant for him sticking out of her stomach. He watches faintly as she lifts a hand from where it’s pressed to the wound, and it comes away sticky with blood. Lifting it in front of her face, she stares at it with unseeing eyes, before glancing the exact same time Sans does at the shivering dark blue soul hovering in front of her chest, slowly fracturing, the cracks in it getting bigger as she dies.

 

Mentally, Sans prepares himself for it to break into pieces and for the world to reset itself.

 

Suddenly, another guard steps forward from behind the commanding guard, two halves of a glistening, glass-like container held in in their hands. Lifting their arms, they slam the two halves over the human’s soul, capturing it inside the container. Instantly, there’s an unearthly shriek of pain and heart-wrenching misery that rings out in a voice Sans knows all too well, and the human’s body collapses onto the ground in front of him, her head tipped back, eyes staring at him in a wide and unseeing gaze. Inside the container, the cracks in the soul vanish, and it stays there, floating idly.

 

Sans stares at the container, and at the human’s body in front of him.

 

They took her soul.

 

They…

 

**_They took her soul._ **

In an instant, Sans is on his feet, the realization of _they have her soul, that’s her soul, give it back it’s not yours_ cutting through the fog in his mind. He takes one more look at her lifeless body, at the blood staining the front of her sweater, and screams, launching at the guards with every attack he’s got, his bones crackling with magical energy.

 

“Give her back! Give her back, you bastards!”

 

A guard takes a step towards him, and he grabs their soul, lifting them up with a guiding motion from his hand and slamming them back into the ground with all the force he’s got. There’s a cracking sound, and he grins manically.

 

If he hasn’t killed that guard, then they still won’t be moving anytime soon.

 

…Good.

 

Feeling hysterical laughter bubble up in his chest, he faces the remaining guards with the biggest, most disturbing smile he can muster. There’s a flash of energy in his left eye socket, and he knows it’s lit up with his signature light blue magic glow. Lifting his arms out from his sides, he allows his magic to spiral out in blue flashes and coils of energy around him, noting with satisfaction the pale faces of more than a few of the guards.

 

**“Give her back or I’ll tear you all apart.”**

Several of the guards take a fearful step back, and he steps forward laughing softly, raising a hand in front of him in preparation.

 

**“Have it your way.”**

Then, something heavy slams into the back of his skull, and everything goes dark.

 

 

~~_…You called out for help (but nobody came.)_ ~~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh man, this chapter... This chapter killed me, in every sense of the word. It was exhausting to write, both because of how long it ended up becoming and because of what I knew I had to do at the end. Ah well, it was a lot of fun to write as well, though, even if I died a little inside.
> 
> Anyways, if you've just finished reading this, maybe go have a listen over [here](http://undertalealbumproject.bandcamp.com/) to Fallen Back and Asleep, which have quickly become my new favorite Undertale songs just for how much they really suit the tone of this fic, and particularly the relationship between Sans and Integrity. (Yes, any parallels you may or may not pick up on to other relationships are completely intentional.)
> 
> I'm gonna try to update with the next chapter later this week, in order to make up for the long gap between updates I've had lately (Note to self: No more 11 thousand word chapters). Though I also want to do some clean up on the previous chapters with grammar and formatting since the next chapter will kind of be the end of this "Act" of the fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Also! My amazingly talented [art friend](http://moth-bug.tumblr.com/), after much bullying on my part, drew Integrity, which you can check out [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/139285893102/cyrenea-for-pastel-clark-who-bugs-me-near).
> 
> Or, you can see my own shitty 'official' sketches for Integrity [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/138917047627/more-shitty-art-of-the-integrity-child-from-not-as) and [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/137515262652/some-rough-sketches-of-nameless-integrity-child).
> 
> Soooo, as always, feel free to come and talk to me (and by that I mean please do, I'm lonely and bored) over on Tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	8. Beyond Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bring him to the king.

They bring him to the king.

 

Not that Sans is actually awake for that part—the guard who knocked him out with what he’s guessing was probably the blunt end of their spear did their job well, and as such he doesn’t regain consciousness until they’re marching him through the empty halls of the castle.

 

When he comes to, the first thing he notices is that his feet aren’t anywhere near the ground. Instead, he’s being carried by two guards who each have an elbow locked around his underarms, holding Sans up between the two of them. His first instinct is to call his magic and blast the guards holding him to hell and back, but when he feels out for the vast supply of magic that he normally needs to keep a tight lid on, he’s met with an empty void and a tight, compressive vacuum around his hands, sealing off the primary physical conductors for his magic.

 

Glancing down, he’s met with the sight of two thick, metallic, cylindrical constructs clamped around each of his lower forearms and hands, encasing them completely. He can’t even move his arms, the weight of the constructs weighing them down and the bar between the two keeping him from swinging his arms anywhere, leaving them hanging together in front of his body.

 

Internally, Sans curses. He’s heard of these—magic inhibitors, designed solely for the purpose of halting a monster’s flow of magic and constraining them from being able to use it in any way, shape, or form. At least, until the inhibitors are removed.

 

His strongest weapon gone, Sans resorts to the next best option. With a yell, he kicks out at the guards holding him, struggling in their grip. The guards in question simply glance at each other over his head, and switch their grip so that they’re each holding one of his upper arms in a hand with an iron grip, keeping him at arm's length, and therefore out kicking range.

 

Yeah, he hadn’t really thought it’d be that effective, either.

 

Regardless, it’s really the only thing he can do, and his mind is still in a half-awake haze of furious anger, so he continues kicking and screaming to the best of his ability. If nothing else, he can at least annoy the guards this way.

 

Then, he glances to his left at a third guard walking next to and slightly in front of the ones carrying him, and stops shorts. Mostly, he can only see the back of the guard, but what little he can see of what, or more specifically, _who_ they’re carrying, fills his whole body with a sort of cold numbness. There’s an arm dangling from the body in the guard’s arms, thin, pale fingers peeking out from the oversized sleeve of a dark blue and white striped sweater, now stained with drops and streaks of blood, and a mess of black hair Sans would recognize anywhere hanging over the guard’s elbow on the arm that’s loosely supporting the body’s neck and shoulders.

 

…Not _the_ body.

 

 _Her_ body.

 

Sans feels another wave of rage and grief crash over him as the place where his stomach should be lurches and he fights the urge to be sick.

 

They’ve killed her, properly. They’ve taken her soul.

 

They’ve murdered her on the king’s orders.

 

They’ve killed…her?

 

Her.

 

The human.

 

The…

 

He can’t remember her name. Where it should be, pinnacle and central to the wealth of information Sans has come to know about her, is only a blank gap, white noise and static where her voice, saying her name, should have been. It’s gone.

 

_Oh god._

 

What have they done?

 

What have they done to him?

 

What have…what have they done to _her_?

 

The guards slow their pace, a few turning to mutter to one another.

 

Sans thinks they’re saying something about Asgore.

 

Maybe.

 

He doesn’t care.

 

He can’t stop staring at the blood on the human’s sleeve.

 

They turn into a new hall, and Sans’s breath catches. Instead of the pale, white walls he’d seen of the rest of the castle—or at least, the part he’d been awake for—this room is awash in color. Golden walls, a tiled floor in varying shades of deep yellow and orange, and wide golden-yellow pillars are all thrown into sharp relief by the light shining through the wide stained-glass windows. As with many places in the Underground, there’s a strange, otherworldly beauty captured in the room.

 

And then, ducking into the room from the other doorway as he’s led by two guards, is King Asgore—and suddenly to Sans the beauty of the room is gone, taken up by the presence of the one person arguably truly at fault for this. Maybe it was the guards who killed the human, but it was Asgore who sent them.

 

Vaguely, Sans notes a small, aquatic, and rather fish-like monster run into the room behind Asgore, trotting at his heels, while another tall humanoid monster dressed entirely in black and white slips in quietly. His focus is on Asgore though, carefully watching the Boss Monster who hasn’t even looked at them yet, too busy speaking quietly to the guard in ornate armor—perhaps the Captain of the Guard—on his left.

 

In his rational mind, Sans knows that given the instability of his magic, no matter how strong his raw power is, he can’t fight the king and win.

 

…That doesn’t stop him from considering it.

 

Asgore raises his head towards the approaching guards and he stops in his tracks, his eyes going wide and flickering between the body of the human and Sans, still being carried by the two guards. Sans bares his teeth and glowers at the king in the most threatening way he can manage. What right does he have to look so shocked? He’s the one who sent these guards after Sans and the human in the first place.

 

The guards come to a stop before Asgore, forming a sort of informal line, those not carrying Sans or the human dipping into a slight bow. The one holding the human steps forward, laying her at Asgore’s feet, and then the two guards still keeping Sans away at arm’s length step forward, and, with a yelp of protest from Sans, drop him unceremoniously in front of Asgore, just behind the human’s body.

 

Keeping his eyes low, Sans takes a quick sweep of the room—guards clustered behind him, excluding the two more decorated ones standing on Asgore’s left, the small fish monster now standing slightly behind Asgore to his right, and the tall, pale monster gliding up to one of the pillars on the right side of the room and leaning on it in mock-casualness, observing the proceedings with dark, indiscernible eyes. He now knows the exact positions of everyone, and therefore every potential threat, in the room, not that it helps him much unless he finds a way to get these damn inhibitors off.

 

So that’s item number one on the list, obviously. Followed by getting his hands on the human’s soul as quickly as possible and breaking the container holding it. Perhaps then time will restart as it is supposed to.

 

It isn’t much of a plan, but it’s all he’s got. Still keeping as much awareness as he can on the other monsters in the room, Sans turns his attention to the inhibitors, trying to spot a weakness in the clasps holding them on, only to freeze as a voice rings out.

 

“What is…that is a child! Why are they shackled like that? What is the meaning of this?”

 

The voice is one Sans is vaguely familiar with through televised addresses and recordings—low, powerful, and…concerned? He glances up at Asgore, who is staring down at him with a sort of undisguised horror. He snorts, fighting back full-on laughter, and Asgore looks even more worried, but Sans can’t help it, because it’s _so funny,_ that this is the king, the one who sent the monsters that captured him and killed the human, and here he stands over her broken body and doesn’t even acknowledge it, wasting his time pretending to care about someone who knows what he’s really like.

 

_It’s his fault she’s dead. He gave the orders._

One of the guards shifts uncomfortably. “Sire…”

 

Asgore ignores him and crouches down, kneeling in front of Sans as a giant hand lifts up and hovers in front of him uncertainly. “Are you alright, child?”

 

Sans really, truly laughs at that, because of course he’s not alright. Nothing about this is alright. And unless he can get the human’s soul and go back to before all this happened, nothing will ever be alright again.

 

Asgore hesitates, reaching out his hand as if to comfort Sans somehow, and instantly he jerks his head up, rearing back from the monster in front of him.

 

**“Get away from me.”**

****

Asgore jumps back, getting to his feet quickly, staring at Sans in confusion, before his eyes flicker up to the group of guards with a lost look. “I…don’t understand. What is…?”

 

“Your highness, if you will allow us to explain…“

 

“Get those abominations off of the child first,” Asgore says, glancing down at the inhibitors locked around Sans’s arms in distaste.

 

“I’m afraid that, for your own safety and the safety of every monster in this room, I can’t do that right now Sire," answers a guard. Maybe the same guard who had been carrying the human’s body? They had seemed to stay at the front of the pack. Sans can’t tell.

 

Asgore visibly bristles. “I doubt—“

 

“Don’t be rash, Asgore,” a new voice, low and precise, says, and Sans glances up sharply at the speaker—the tall monster still reclining against the pillar, his arms crossed and a passive expression on his face. “I made sure your guards understood clearly the function of the inhibitors when I gave them their first working prototypes. They know not to use them unless there is a clear necessity.”

 

Asgore visibly hesitates, then turns his attention back to the group of guards. “Continue then, please.”

 

“I believe this was sent over in our earlier reports, your highness, though perhaps you did not read them. It is my understanding you expressed a wish to be kept out of the proceedings until the human was either captured or killed, after all.” Asgore nods, and the voice continues. “Yesterday it came to our attention that the human was located in Waterfall. Upon discovery, it fled with a young skeleton monster who fought off the guards that attempted to seize the human.” Asgore’s eyes dart to Sans for a moment, studying him.

 

“And you believe this is that monster?”

 

“We know he is, Sire. After the human and monster fled, backup was deployed. Troops were put on patrol throughout Waterfall, and a search was sent out to gain information on the monster that fled. The description given matched a child by the name of Sans, who is known around Snowdin but is believed to live in Waterfall, though no address or even general location of residence outside of that could be provided. The boy has a younger brother, but we were unable to locate him for questioning either.”

 

Internally, Sans breathes a sigh of relief. Papyrus is safe, no doubt hidden away from the guards by Grillby the minute they came around. Good.

 

“All other reports gained about the boy were vague, but firm in the fact that from what was previously known of the boy’s personality, he’s never had a history of clashing against kingdom law, and has never previously expressed an interest in knowledge about humans. Regardless, late this morning the boy and the human were confronted and pursued by a troop of guards in central Waterfall. They made it as far as the bridge, where they chose to fight rather than surrender when surrounded, injuring a large number of guards. The human was struck down, and upon this the boy continued attacking. He was subdued and the magic inhibitors were placed on him for the protection of those transporting him.” The guard pauses, and when they speak again, their voice is filled with quiet malice that Sans doesn’t doubt is directed at him. “While he may not look it, the boy is incredibly powerful, your highness. There are a good many injured guards, some of whom have likely sustained permanent damage from this, who can attest to that.”

 

The king blinks and stares at Sans, obviously trying to correlate the image before him with someone capable of incapacitating a squadron of guards. Sans can’t exactly blame him, he’s more than aware his short stature doesn’t make him look much older than maybe ten. Still, he takes this as an opportunity to give Asgore the most intimidating glare he can manage. Perhaps if he disturbs him enough, Asgore will keep away.

 

Sans doesn’t want that dirty murderer anywhere near him.

 

Asgore’s eyes flicker from Sans to the human’s body, just for a second, before he turns a faint shade of green and looks back up at the guards, resolutely ignoring what’s left of Sans’s friend lying at his feet. Sans fights back a growl—Asgore has no right to be disgusted by the sight of her blood when he is the one responsible for what happened.

 

“And the human? If they were struck down, what became of their soul?”

 

“Right here, Sire.” Sans hears the sound of a guard stepping forward, and glances up, careful to keep his head down at the same time, to see the guard take something out of a pouch hanging on their side and present it to King Asgore. It’s a small, clear container, the curved sides shining like glass, and inside it is a glowing, dark blue heart-shaped object.

 

The human’s soul.

 

Sans straightens up quickly with a gasp the second he sees it, all pretense of caution gone at the sight of the one possible thing that can save the human’s life. He watches as Asgore takes the container, cradling it in huge, paw-like hands with an almost despondent expression, and tries to formulate words—to beg, to plead, to threaten—anything to try and get Asgore to relinquish her soul.

 

He opens his mouth, to say something, _anything_ , and then the small fish monster pokes her head around Asgore’s side and stares up at the soul with a vaguely disinterested expression. “Is that it? The human’s soul?”

 

Her voice is rough, but high and clearly juvenile. Given her size, Sans guesses she can’t be older than him by more than a year or two. Just another kid. That doesn’t stop Sans from wanting to throw her across the room with his magic for the bored look she’s directing towards the human’s soul, as if it’s just a disappointingly dull museum attraction.

 

Asgore startles, as if from a daze, and glances down at the fish monster before slipping the soul somewhere beneath his cape.

 

“Yes, Undyne, it is.”

 

“Hmmph. Thought it’d be cooler looking.” She glances at the human’s body, eyes widening slightly and her expression suddenly much more interested. “So is that…thing…the rest of it?”

 

Sans grits his teeth. Ignore her. Just…ignore her.

 

Asgore’s eyes dart to the human’s body quickly once more, and then he closes his eyes, looking like he’s going to be sick . “I…yes.”

 

“Woahhhh…” The girl—Undyne takes a step forward, bending down and peering at the human’s body. “Gross.” She reaches out a hand as if to poke at the human’s chest, and in instant Sans lunges forward with a full-forced snarl, somehow struggling to his feet despite the heavy inhibitors still weighing him down, hunching over the human’s body protectively.

 

**“Don’t touch her.”**

Undyne rears away, a terrified look on her face, until she’s two steps back and well out of Sans’s reach. Once she seems to realize this, she quickly switches to an overly confident expression, leaning forward with a malicious smile. “O-oh yeah? And what’d you do to stop me? You can barely move.” Sans scowls, and she just grins, triumphant. “Serves you right, you gross human lover. All you are is a traitor. And now you can’t do anything.”

 

“Let’s see if you’re still singing that tune once I get these things off," Sans growls, unable to stop himself. “You’re no match for me. It’d be _nothing_ to tear your soul apart, fish bitch.”

 

Her eyes go wide, and then she lunges forward with a shriek, a crackle of bluish magic in the vague shape of a spear forming in her hand. “No one calls me a _fish bitch_ , you fuckwad.”

 

Sans dodges, and swings his inhibitor-cuffed arms as hard as he can at her face, figuring even if this doesn’t do any damage to the locking mechanism on them, it’ll still cause her a world of pain. She stumbles back, eyes wide, the edges of the inhibitors just barely missing her chin, before Asgore grabs her and pulls her back while two guards grab at Sans. He snaps at them, and they quickly back away, clearly still afraid of him from the damage he inflicted when he’d had access to his magic, despite the fact that he currently can do shit all with the inhibitors on.

 

Still, as long as it keeps them off of him, he’ll take what he can get.

 

Sans turns back to Undyne with a growl as Asgore pulls her behind him, a nervous look on his face. She snarls, making another swipe at him from behind Asgore’s arm. “I’ll kill you, you little—“

 

“Undyne!” Asgore snaps, and she freezes. “This is not helping!” She winces, and he crouches down, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t just pick fights with everyone that upsets you. He can’t defend himself very well with the inhibitors on, and he is much smaller than you. You could have seriously hurt him…or him you. You’re very lucky you didn’t get hit by those inhibitors.” Undyne grumbles something under her breath, and Asgore sighs. “If you can’t keep calm, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room while this is dealt with.”

 

“But—“

 

“Now, Undyne.”

 

She huffs and pulls out of his grip, stomping off and disappearing around the corner, though a second later Sans sees the edge of her head peek back around it, obviously trying to hide and failing terribly. Whatever. As long as she’s far away from himself and the human, both her body and soul, Sans could care less.

 

The minute Asgore stands up and turns back around, Sans dips his head down and quickly goes back to work trying to spot a weakness in the clasps on the inhibitors, studiously avoiding the king’s gaze. He has no idea what Asgore might do to him for attacking his—what? …Daughter? Trainee? Something. And frankly Sans isn’t too keen to find out the possibilities. He needs to get the human’s soul and get out, but first to do that he needs to _get_ _these fucking things off—_

A huge hand lands gently on Sans’s shoulder, and he flinches back in a panic, belatedly realizing his whole body is shaking as he desperately calls his magic and cannot. Asgore retracts his arm, watching him carefully, and Sans relaxes slightly, before tensing up again as Asgore crouches down at his level.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He laughs bitterly at that. “What do you care?”

 

Asgore’s face is the picture of well-meaning concern. “You are one of my subjects, and furthermore, a child. I care very much.”

 

Sans snorts. “Yeah, sure. You care _so much_ about children.”

 

“Sans, please. I cannot help you unless you talk to me.”

 

“I don’t want your help!” he snarls, glaring up at Asgore. “You’re the reason I’m here in the first place! Just stay away from me! And from her!”

 

“I…don’t follow.” Asgore sighs. “Please help me understand how we got here, Sans. I only want to be of assistance.” His eyes flicker down to the inhibitors. “The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we can get those off of you. I’m sure this has all been a big misunderstanding.”

 

Sans looks off to the side, pointedly ignoring him. This isn’t a conversation he has any interest in having. Asgore wants to play the innocent child protector? Good. Great. But he’s not answering any questions.

 

“Sans, please. Allow me to help you.”

 

He grinds his teeth together, and then bites out two words that he figures will make his position as clear as possible. “ _Screw. You.”_

There’s a gasp from one of the guards, and the one standing closest to Asgore’s left, the one Sans had guessed was likely the Captain, takes a step forward, only to stop when Asgore raises a hand, glancing at them pleadingly before looking back at Sans. “I don’t think you appreciate how much trouble you are in.”

 

Oh, he appreciates it, he’s just past the point of caring.

 

“You attacked a squadron of Royal Guards—“

 

“Oh, _we_ attacked _them_?” Sans cuts Asgore off with a snarl. “Is that how everyone’s gonna claim it went down? Fine. Blame _us_ for something _you_ started.”

 

With a sigh, Asgore stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “I will confess to being somewhat confused right now. Would anyone care to explain just _exactly_ what happened during this pursuit and subsequent fight?”

 

“We’re still trying to figure out that ourselves, Sire,” says the guard on Asgore’s left. “The guards that presumably confronted the boy and the human are all still unconscious, as are many of the guards that pursued them. Most of those that aren’t are still being treated and haven’t yet been questioned. We still have no idea where the two came from or how they got to central Waterfall, among other things. There’s a lot of gaps.”

 

Asgore looks to the side at the monster reclining against the pillar, his expression vaguely disgruntled. “I thought you had cameras for this?”

 

The monster scowls. “Of course I do, but there’s none installed near the Ruins or Snowdin yet, and all the ones in and around most of Waterfall are always on the fritz, have been since the Guard put them in. All of the ones that could have been of any use constantly show static or a false feed. The only camera that might have caught anything is the one near the Hotland Bridge, but _your_ guards refuse to hand it over because it’s _‘evidence’_ , and I’m the only one with the code to unlock and view the footage.”

 

“What is the point of having cameras in Waterfall if they don’t even work?!” Asgore snaps, and the other monster just shrugs.

 

Sans snorts, then chuckles, before breaking into hysterical laughter, tears gathering at the corners of his eye sockets. God, he’d completely forgotten about those. He’d say it was a good thing he’d taken care of those months ago, but it’s not like it had done much in the end. After all, he was still here with the human’s body lying in front of him, watching the king argue with some monster about security cameras. God, how much more screwed up could this get?

 

Asgore peers down at him. “Is…something the matter.”

 

He chokes out a word. “…cameras.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“If you’re going to set up _cameras_ , don’t do it in the _Temmie’s fucking territory without their permission_. They run everything below the table and it’s an _expectation_ now that people look the other way. You’re an idiot if you think they’d take well to any kind of unknown surveillance. They had me out disabling the cameras or putting them on a looped feed the first day they went up.”

 

The other monster groans and slams his palm into his forehead. “I fucking told you, Asgore. I told you the Temmies would retaliate. Now look.”

 

Asgore ignores him, instead staring down at Sans with a disturbed expression. “You’re…working jobs for the Temmies.”

 

Sans can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Obviously. I don’t disable cameras for fun. Well, most of the time, at least.”

 

That doesn’t quell Asgore’s apparent concern. “How old are you?”

 

That’s…a good question, actually. One Sans really doesn’t have a solid answer to. “I’m twelve,” he says, blurting out the first number that comes to mind without really stopping to think about it. It…sounds right to him, anyways. He’s pretty confident the human and he are the same age—give or take a few months, maybe.

 

“How the fuck did a twelve-year-old dummy feed _my_ cameras?” Sans hears the monster mutter from off to the side, but his focus is on Asgore, who, upon hearing Sans’s proclamation of his age, only looks sadder. And suddenly, staring at Asgore’s visible distress, Sans is furious. How _dare_ Asgore stand there and look concerned for his wellbeing, about the way Sans has to live his life to keep food and clothing available for himself and his brother, all over the fact that he is a child, when the _great_ and _mighty_ King of Monsters ordered the execution of another child, Sans’s _friend_ , just because she was a human.

 

Fuck that.

 

“She was twelve too, y’know,” Sans says, quietly, his voice like ice. “Her birthday was in April, less than two months ago…but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

 

Asgore blinks, looking at him in confusion. “What—“

 

“Don’t look at _me,_ ” Sans growls. “Look at _her_. I’m not the one whose blood is marking up your floor. I’m not the one whose soul you stole.”

 

“I…” Asgore visibly flounders, deliberately looking anywhere but the body in front of Sans. “I don’t…”

 

**“Why won’t you look at her?”**

Sans watches Asgore startle at the steel edge in his voice, and gives a sharp, bitter grin, ignoring the tears pooling in his eye sockets once again. “Why not?! It’s because of your order, after all! What? Are you ashamed? You should be proud!” He laughs darkly. “You sent your guards after a little girl, just another kid like me. Where’s your concern for her?”

 

The king hesitates. “T-that’s different, they were a human…”

 

“ _She,”_ he snarls, anger combining with grief in a wave that overtakes him once more, “ _was my friend_.” Asgore flinches. “ _She_ never did anything to _anyone!_ _She_ just wanted to go somewhere _safe! She_ died _protecting me_ from _your_ guards.”

 

 _That_ gets Asgore looking at him again. Hesitantly, he leans down, giving Sans what might have been a decent attempt at a patient smile if it weren’t for his nervously quivering lips and cautious eyes. “Sans, you may think that, but you are mistaken. Humans are cruel, malicious creatures who will kill monsters or even one of their own simply because they can. Humans can’t love, they only hate. I know that may be something hard to accept for someone as young as yourself, but—”

 

“YOU’RE WRONG,” Sans screams, feeling tears track down the sides of his skull as desperate sobs fight to get out of his chest. “SHE IS MY FAMILY. SHE IS GOOD, AND KIND, AND HONEST, AND BRAVE, AND WORTH A HUNDRED OF YOU! OF ANY OF YOU!”

 

Any other time, Sans would find it amusing how quickly the giant Boss Monster backpedals away at his outburst, but now he’s just pissed.

 

Weak King.

 

Coward King.

 

Disgusting, Murderous King.

 

“Sans, please. She was just a—“

 

**“Finish that sentence and you are _really_ not gonna like what happens the minute I get these things off my arms.”**

 

Asgore shrinks in on himself, and Sans sighs, gaze falling down to the human’s body. The way she lies, limp and unmoving, she could almost be sleeping…if it weren’t for the matted mess of hair shielding her face, her rumpled, bloodstained clothes, or the giant bloody hole in her sweater along her stomach where the spear hit her. The ache to get the inhibitors off doubles, but for another reason entirely separate from his magic. Sans wants to hug her, to brush her hair till it’s straight again and then braid it back like she likes. He wants to straighten out her clothes, because she loved that sweater he made her keep, and then wants to get her favorite blanket from the cave, the worn and soft bluish-grey one, and wrap her up in it so that the blood is no longer visible and she does look like she really just could be sleeping.

 

More than anything, he just wants this nightmare to end.

 

“She’s a good person,” he mumbles, barely aware that he’s speaking out loud. “Better than most humans, most monsters even. She likes dancing, and singing, and all music, but especially jazz. She loves cinnamon bunnies, but hates crab apples. She cries sometimes, because she’s sad a lot, but smiles more often because she wants to learn to love life. She misses the stars and the sun, but would have stayed down here if she could safely. She thinks the Ruins are beautiful. She’s never had a family that loves her—only she has _me_ , and even if it was just to fool a guard she called me her _brother_ , and she…she said I was her _favorite person_ in the _world_ …after Papyrus, obviously.” Sans laughs hollowly. “She is my friend…she is…”

 

Sans hears quiet footsteps, and glances up as Asgore slowly kneels before him. He feels tears dripping off the sides of his skull and his chin, but he can’t wipe them away because he can’t move his arms, and he’s just so _tired_. Too tired to even be angry anymore.

 

There’s no point. Anger won’t bring her back.

 

…Only one thing might.

 

“Sans, I don’t—“

 

“Give me her soul.”

 

Asgore’s head jerks up, his eyes wide. “What?”

 

“ _Give me her soul,”_ Sans says desperately. “Please. It’s the only shot I’ve got at fixing this. Another human will fall eventually, you don’t need her's. Let me save her.”

 

Asgore’s face crumples, eyes going dim. “I…I can’t.”

 

“Yes, you can.”

 

“…No,” says the monster leaning against the pillar, his voice resigned. “He actually can’t. Well, he could, but chances are the human’s soul would evaporate soon after leaving the container built to sustain it. Even if it didn’t, nothing else could be done with it, save absorb it.”

 

“I…don’t understand.” Sans mumbles.

 

With a sigh, the monster straightens up, not taking one step towards Asgore or Sans, instead just re-crossing his arms and looking down at them over the bridge of his glasses. “The act of removing a creature’s soul as they’re dying, tearing it apart from their body without their consent—it is a violation of the deepest level, against nature, against reason. Rape of the very essence of what makes someone who they are. The most abominable thing one creature can do to another.” Asgore flinches at his words. “Doing so…damages the soul immensely. Destroys a part of who the person that made up that soul used to be. I’m sure you’ve noticed you can no longer remember your friend’s name?” Sans nods clumsily. “Destruction of a key piece of the identity, a part of what I call the Lost Soul Theory. One _lovely_ side effect of this,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “is that the soul can no longer return to or heal the body it came from. The person is, for all intents and purposes, dead.”

 

“Nor,” he continues quickly when Sans opens his mouth in protest, “can the soul perform any of the magical capabilities it might have been able to when the person was alive. This stealing of someone’s soul like this is irreversible. A fixed, unchangeable occurrence.” He quirks an eyebrow, expression knowing. “Not even impossible time magic could change such a thing.”

 

A few of the guards titter at the mention of time magic, but Sans’s focus is on the tall monster, his initial horrified—delighted?—surprise that _he knows_ overridden by the sinking dread he feels at those last words. “S-so, what you’re saying is…”

 

“This can’t be changed, or fixed. Believe me kid, if anyone’s looked into this stuff, it’s me. Your human’s gone.”

 

There’s a crushing weight pulling down at Sans, grasping at his throat, and he _can’t breathe,_ but he’s sobbing anyways, gasping and choking on empty air as it all comes crashing down on him.

 

_She’s gone. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. You failed. You failed her._

“Back up, Asgore.” He hears the voice of the tall monster say distantly, and blinks as the monster comes into focus kneeling before him.

 

“I…I promised her that I’d keep her safe,” he chokes out. “That I’d protect her.”

 

The monster’s eyes are sad and almost…sympathetic as he nods. “I’m sure you did the best you could.” He holds up a hand, a small key clasped between two long fingers. “If I unlock your inhibitors, are you going to try to fight anyone?” Sans shakes his head, and the monster hums and sticks the key into the bar between the inhibitors, where a small hole is. He twists it, and with a hiss the inhibitors unclasp and fall off of Sans’s arms. Sitting up, he barely gives himself a moment to quickly rub feeling back into his wrists, before his eyes land on the body of the human and he dives past the monster, hovering over her with shaking hands.

 

“H-hey,” he whispers, voice cracking. Carefully, he brushes her hair back from her face, trying to smooth it into some semblance of neatness. “It’s alright. Y-you’re…you’re alright. You’re…” With a sob, he pitches forward burying his face in the human’s shoulder and hugging her body to his.

 

It’s not alright.

 

Nothing will be alright ever again.

 

Not after this.

 

Glancing up, he sees Asgore staring down at him with a pained expression. Hesitantly, Sans wipes the tears from his face the best he can and then looks back up at the king.

 

“At least let me take her body. I know where she would have wanted to be buried.”

 

Asgore shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that either.”

 

Sans thinks about fighting it, fighting him. But he doesn’t want the inhibitors back on him, and he’s just too tired to try. He feels nothing, no anger, not anymore—just numbness and exhaustion. It’s not worth them suddenly deciding to punish him again. Quickly, he conjures a bone shard into his hand, sharp on one edge, and lifts up a lock of the human’s hair, slicing through it and slipping it into his pocket. Standing up, he stares up at Asgore blankly. “Her backpack, then. I want her backpack.”

 

Asgore sighs. “Give him the backpack.”

 

“Wha—Sire!” snaps the possible Captain guard, as another steps forward with the human’s bag. “Never mind the fact that the human’s possessions are evidence, you’re really just going to let him go?! He attacked our guards! Injured them in defense of a _human_! He should pay for what he has done!”

 

With a snarl, Sans calls his magic. Blue light, coiling and rippling like fire, spirals from his hands and up along his arms. “Take what happened up with your king, he gave you those orders. I was just trying to defend my friend. You wanna lock me up for that? Go ahead and try. Just know that I’ll sooner dust you than let you get those damn inhibitors back on me.”

 

Ah yes, there’s his anger. Right on schedule.

 

“Now, now,” Asgore says peacefully. “There’s no need for that. The backpack, if you will.”

 

“But, Sire—“

 

“Enough.” Now Asgore’s voice is stern. “Sans is right. There…there has been enough fighting for one day, today. Enough death. More than enough for a long while. I do not wish to see harm come to my guards, and I will not allow them to fight a child, either. We…we must learn to forgive.”

 

The guard growls, but steps back obediently, and Sans snatches the backpack from the other guard quickly, slipping it over his shoulders. Glancing around the room, he hunches in on himself at the sight of the guards, of Asgore and the other monster who unlocked his inhibitors, of Undyne still hiding behind the doorway, watching him like they would a cornered and injured wild animal—one prone to strike.

 

Sans can’t breathe, with all these eyes watching him. He needs to get out. Now. Before they…before they change their minds and decide to kill him along with the human. They would. He’s a traitor in their eyes. Never mind the fact that it was never about humans or monsters, it was always about doing right by someone who didn’t deserve…this.

 

He just needs to go home.

 

He needs…

 

_Papyrus._

 

He needs Papyrus. He needs to see his baby brother and know he’s alright.

 

But more than anything, he needs out of this damn castle.

 

He casts one last glance at the human’s body, memorizing her face, then stoops down quickly and places a skeleton kiss just above the top of her nose, between her eyes, before bumping their foreheads together like she often did as a sign of reassurance, or when she thought he was being an idiot.

 

“Goodbye,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

 

And then he turns, and he runs, sprinting through the line of guards that dodge out of his way with a yelp. Behind him, he hears several shouts, a shriek from Undyne, and the sound of his name desperately being called by Asgore.

 

He shoots out the door and down the hall, moving as fast as he can while his eyes desperately search for an exit.

 

“Sans!” A voice yells, trailing him. The tall monster, he thinks. Maybe.

 

He just keeps running, out and down through the castle and into the streets of the Capital.

 

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t do anything else.

 

He runs.

 

And runs.

 

And runs.

 

Until he can’t run anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez. This chapter... This chapter. It was... something. There were some parts that were a ton of fun to write, and some that... really weren't 
> 
> So, I think a quick recap is in order.
> 
> Gaster was introduced in this chapter. I won't lie, he's an absolute delight to write. I have fun making him the snarky super-scientist asshole (with a soft spot for Sans). It's probably already obvious, but he's going to go on to play a big role in the next part of the story.
> 
> We also meet Undyne here, and I know a few people might be unhappy with the way she's portrayed here, but keep in mind she's like 14 right now, she's got a lot of growing up to do, so I wanted to portray a more hot-headed version of her with the same opinions adult Undyne has in the beginning of the game (mainly about humans) while insuring that she has even less tact about expressing those opinions than normal.
> 
> Asgore... was difficult to write. I'm still not sure how accurate I got him? Obviously he's going to be a little different from game-time Asgore, but I wanted him to still have a similar vibe. Though addressing some of the stuff he said in this chapter, since that's another thing that might be problematic for some people: No, Asgore doesn't hate humans (obviously). At this point, he's already killed/been responsible for the deaths of three kids, now four, he feels guilty and is desperate to convince himself that he's doing the right thing, namely that what he told his people and what they've come to believe about humans is true. Even if he knows it isn't, this is him trying to talk himself into believing that to stave off the guilt. (At this point, I think he's come to consider Chara as more of a 'monster in a human's body' than a true human, in order to fit with his rationale of 'all humans are bad'.)
> 
> Anyways, as some people might have noticed on the story summary, I've also formally gone ahead and split the story into what will become several "Acts". These signify major shifts in the story or the closing of certain plot lines to give the fic a more structured feel (since it's quickly getting longggg). These also give me a chance to take a mental break between Acts to recollect my thoughts and prepare for the next Act, as well as to go back and do grammar and structure clean up on the earlier chapters in the Act I've just finished. Because of this, the next update may be slightly delayed, but I wouldn't expect more than for a day or two beyond the usual gap between chapters.
> 
> Soooo, let me know what you guys think. I'd love to hear your thoughts. As of now, Integrity's "arc" per say is more or less closed. She'll be mentioned a lot, as she obviously leaves a big impact on Sans, and might make some appearances in flashbacks, but as of now she's dead. Badda bing, badda bang. Sorry, had to be done.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
>  
> 
> Also! Check out my amazingly talented [art friend's](http://moth-bug.tumblr.com/), drawing of Integrity [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/139285893102/cyrenea-for-pastel-clark-who-bugs-me-near).  
> Or, you can see my own shitty 'official' sketches for Integrity [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/138917047627/more-shitty-art-of-the-integrity-child-from-not-as) and [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/137515262652/some-rough-sketches-of-nameless-integrity-child).


	9. Her Lullaby (It Will Happen Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No one can ever know anything about it._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Alternatively:
> 
> Vaguely he wonders if he can just write ‘They killed her. Fuck Asgore.’ and call it done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know how I said no more 11k word chapters? 
> 
> Yeah, I lied.
> 
> I spent most of writing this chapter listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYRqIAuY9IQ), which'll give you a pretty good idea of what to expect. Angst ahoy! 

_He’s braiding her hair, carefully weaving black strands around one another in a complex line. He’d started out with simple braids, back when they first picked up this semi-tradition, sitting on his bed with a pile of pillows and blankets around them while he played with her hair and they talked, but over time has taught himself more involved styles, using the trashy old hairstyling book he’d fished out of the pools months ago and had forgotten to trade. The human, who’s never had someone excluding herself to do this for her, loves each and every one of them._

_It’s an odd, but soothing ritual. Just another one of the little habits they’ve picked up in their ‘break time’ between attempts at escape from Waterfall._

_…Just another habit that may soon end._

_Carefully, Sans twists another lock of dark hair into place. He’s doing a fishtail braid, one that works well with the human’s thick hair, and is her unspoken favorite. “I’m thinking about trying one of those **Waterfall** braids next,” he says quietly, voice pointedly cheerful and with humorous inflection on the pun._

_“…What if there’s not a next time.” He stays silent, and the human sighs. “We’ve been discussing it for more than a couple runs now, Sans. We can’t put it off forever.”_

_“…Yeah, I know.” Neither of them moves._

_“I’m just…not ready.”_

_The human’s responding chuckle is bitter. “…I’m not ready either.”_

_And so they stay still, Sans working his way down the braid with slightly shaking hands while the human sits calmly. The silence, having lost the comfortable stillness it held before, slowly eats away at him. The human must feel it too, and starts humming quietly. The tune is familiar._

_“What is that?”_

_The human startles and cuts off, as if from a daze. “What’s what?”_

_“That song. I’ve heard you singing it with the little monster that visits you.”_

_“Oh.” The corner of the human’s face that he can see flushes in embarrassment, and she ducks her head slightly. “It’s nothing.”_

_He pokes the back of her head and she reaches behind her to swat at him in retaliation. “It’s really nothing.”_

_“Nothing’s **nothing** so long as it’s **something,** ” he says, grinning slightly at his own contradiction._

_She sighs. “…It’s stupid.”_

_“Probably not.”_

_“It really is.”_

_“Won’t know unless you tell me, will I?” he says mildly, finishing off the braid and securing it with a rubber band. “So, uh, shoot.”_

_She turns around with a huff and raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”_

_“Nope.”_

_The human rolls her eyes. “It’s…seriously nothing. It’s just…” She looks down, fiddling with her sleeves. “It’s a lullaby, alright?”_

_He blinks. “…A lullaby.”_

_She groans and buries her face in her hands. “…Yes. I didn’t have anyone who would sing one for me when I was little, so I…made up my own.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Yeah. Embarrassing, right?”_

_“Nah. I like it.”_

_Part of her face peeks out from between her fingers, staring at him in disbelief. “It doesn’t even have words, it’s just sound.”_

_“So?” he says, grinning. “It’s still good. Really, uh, haunting.”_

_That gets her to remove her hands from her face. “Lullabies aren’t supposed to be haunting!”_

_Sans shrugs. “Maybe they can be?”_

_She snorts. “Yeag, sure. Only in horror movies.”_

_“Well regardless…” he says. “I like it. In fact…” He gasps, overdramatic, reaching out to point at the braid he just finished. “I spy an error! I guess we’ll just have to…” He pulls the rubber band out of the bottom of the braid. “Redo this.”_

_The human gives him a deadpan stare. “Really?”_

_“Yep. And of course, I can’t work without music. So, y’know…keep going.” He grabs the hairbrush from where it’s sitting next to him and waves his hand at her. The human makes a face at him, but turns back around as he starts unweaving the strands of hair._

_And then, quietly, but gaining more strength and confidence as it goes on, the sound of the lullaby returns._

xxx

 

 

Sans wakes with a gasp, lurching up to a sitting position and wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to quell the shaking of his entire body. He can feel tears in the corners of his eye sockets, threatening to spill down his cheeks, and wipes them away with the corners of his sleeves. Closing his eyes, he focuses on counting his breaths, trying to pull himself together. After a few seconds, he opens them and freezes.

 

This isn’t his room.

 

Panic floods him, and he quickly makes to scramble out of the bed that is most definitely also not his with desperate movements. Losing his balance, he tips sideways and with a shriek falls out of the bed upside-down, one of his legs still caught in the now twisted bedcovers. He flails about helplessly, finger bones scratching at the wood floor in an attempt to pull himself to freedom, for about two seconds before the door opens, and he looks up and stops.

 

Grillby is looking down at him through the gap between the door and the wall in obvious confusion. Sans blinks, and Grillby blinks back, both of them staring dumbfounded at one another—Grillby no doubt out of surprise at Sans’s position, Sans just at seeing Grillby altogether—before the door swings open fully to reveal Ignis standing behind Grillby. She doesn’t even bat an eye at him half-lying on the ground, simply pushing Grillby into the room and bustling in after him.

 

“Ah, good. You’re awake. I thought I heard a commotion coming from in here.” Leaning down, she picks up Sans by his underarms with a squawk of protest from him and sets him back down on the bed. Patting his skull, she then reshuffles the blankets around him for a moment, nodding once she’s satisfied with the setup. “How are you feeling? You gave us all quite the scare.”

 

Sans rubs at his face, his whole head feeling murky. “I…what?”

 

Ignis clicks her tongue. “Jr. found you unconscious outside on the street in the snow. What in the name of Asgore have you been doing? You looked like you’d been sprinting around the whole Underground!”

 

Oh. Sans winces and looks down. Well, it’s not like she’s exactly _wrong_. Still, after all the magical energy he’d exerted just a few hours ago, it’s not surprising he’d collapse, especially with running all the way from the Capital. He’s lucky he even made it back here.

 

He glances up and Ignis raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting a response, but before he can make something up, there’s a loud shout from the hall. “Is that Sans?!”

 

A small, familiar shape comes into view through the doorway, moving so fast that when it tries to turn it skids past the door, socked feet gaining no traction on the wooden floor. There’s a loud crash from somewhere in the hallway, and Sans barely has time to wince and wonder what his brother has broken, before he shoots through the door vaguely from the direction he slid in upon his first attempt and flies into the room.

 

“SANS!!” Sans braces himself as Papyrus jumps onto the bed and flings himself onto him, their skulls barely avoiding crashing into each other. Gently, as Papyrus scrambles and grabs handfuls of his coat in some semblance of a hug, barely containing his excitement as he lets out happy little noises, Sans wraps his arms around his brother in return, resting his skull on the top of Papyrus’s as the younger skeleton slowly settles down. Breathing in the familiar smell of his brother, fisting one hand in the loose end of ever-present red scarf, Sans feels his shoulders relax, the tension flooding out of his body.

 

_…Papyrus._

And then it all comes crashing down on him again. The human. The blood. Oh God, all the blood. Asgore.

 

She’s dead.

 

She’s dead, and Asgore has her soul and her body, and if he hadn’t intervened the guards would have done God knows what to Sans.

 

He’s shaking again, his whole body quaking in—in what? Fear, grief, anger? Fuck if he knows, but he can’t stop shivering and he can feel the tears reforming and threatening to spill over, and _get it together you can’t let Papyrus see you break down_.

 

“…Sans?” Slowly, he feels Papyrus pull away, leaning back and staring at him in confusion. “Are you alright?”

 

Shit.

 

“Course, bro,” he says, ignoring the shakiness of his voice as he gives the largest smile he can muster. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Papyrus frowns and reaches up towards his face, causing him to flinch back instinctively, curling in on himself. Papyrus retracts his hand, eyes wide and filled with hurt, and internally Sans curses. His brother is the one person he has never, ever shied away from physical contact with, but his head’s a mess, and in the haze caused by all his clashing emotions he can’t tell what’s a threat and what’s not.

 

“You’re…you’re crying.”

 

“I’m j-just…” His voice cracks, and he winces. “R-really happy to see you.”

 

His brother narrows his eyes, and he shrinks under Papyrus’s scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes and studying the blanket beneath him with feigned interest.

 

“Honest?”

 

“…Honest, Paps.”

 

“But—“

 

From across the room, there’s a pointed cough, and Sans glances up to see Grillby motioning deliberately to Ignis, and then to Papyrus. She frowns, but then nods reluctantly. “Papyrus, dear, how about you help me get those cookies out of the oven? I’m sure a couple of those will make your brother feel better. You can even taste-test a few if you want.”

 

Sans watches his brother’s face light up in excitement, eyes flickering between Ignis and his previous target of interrogation. “Sans, can I?”

 

He chuckles. “Of course you can.”

 

Papyrus cheers and jumps off the bed, taking Ignis’s outstretched hand as she leads him out of the room. As soon as the door closes behind them, Sans drops his smile and falls back against the headboard of the bed with a tired sigh, closing his eyes. “Thanks.”

 

There’s the quiet sound of footsteps crossing the room, and a dip in the bed as Grillby sits down next to Sans. “…I heard about the human.”

 

Sans laughs bitterly, letting his skull fall back against the wooden headboard with a dull thunk. “News travels that quickly, huh? Not that I should be surprised, I’m sure they’re all _so_ excited to talk about how they murdered a _kid_ for king and country.”

 

“…I’m sorry.”

 

With a sigh, Sans opens his eyes and sits up, opting to stare down at his hands rather than meet Grillby’s eyes. “Not like it’s your fault. It’s just—I can’t believe…” He lets out a snarl of frustration, hands fisting in the blankets. “…She didn’t do _anything_!”

 

“I know she didn’t.” Grillby’s voice is terse, anger brewing just under the surface, eyes glaring at a small charm, the charm the human gave him, Sans realizes with a jolt, that he has clenched tightly in his hand. “I _know_ she didn’t.”

 

“It’s my fault," Sans mumbles, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eye sockets again, and lifts up a hand to wipe at them. “…It’s all my fault. I was supposed to keep her safe.”

 

“Sans…” Grillby sighs, lifting a hand and running it through the flames on the top of his head that serve as his hair. “I’m not saying I don’t hate what happened. Believe me, I do. But it was…it was only an eventuality.”

 

Sans flinches, shaking his head. “It didn’t have to be. She shouldn’t have died. She _wouldn’t_ have died, if it weren’t for me.”

 

Grillby gives a dry chuckle. “To be completely honest, she wouldn’t have even lived as long as she did without you. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

 

“Yes, I can.”

 

“No, you can’t.”

 

With a growl, he whips around to face Grillby, his misplaced anger getting the better of him. **“She took the shot for me!”**

Grillby visibly pales, as much as a fire can, at least. “What do you mean?”

 

“She…” Sans slumps, bringing his hands up to his face as his sudden fit of anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “The spe—“ He winces, unable to even get the word out. “…The shot that killed her, it wasn’t _meant_ for her. It was aimed at me. It hit her because she pushed me out of the way and ended up putting herself in its trajectory by doing so. She died protecting me.” He laughs hollowly. “Just like she promised Papyrus she would. God, I should have—I should have done _something_.”

 

“I’m sure if there was anything you could have done, you would have done it.”

 

They both sit in silence for a minute, lost in their own thoughts. Sans looks down at his hands, now washed clean, and remembers the blood that stained them when he’d touched the human’s body, the blood that had left marks on the ground where she died and in the castle as the only proof of what happened to her. “…I _wish_ it had been me.”

 

Beside him, Grillby slumps. “And then what, Sans? You die and leave Papyrus all alone? You die, and she dies five minutes later regardless? Would you really have chosen to end your life just to buy her a few extra seconds?”

 

“Yes? …No?” Sans groans, burying his face in his hand. “I don’t know. I would have, in the moment. I would have done anything I had to.”

 

Grillby sighs. “I’m not saying what happened wasn’t horrible, but you knew her _two days,_ Sans.”

 

Ah, yes. It’s a stark reminder that for everyone else, this has only been a couple days, that everything that had happened, all the time that had passed, was nonexistent in the grand scheme of things. It feels like all this, meeting the human, fleeing Snowdin together, was a lifetime ago.

 

He grits his teeth, stifling any anger he feels at Grillby’s comment. After all, to Grillby, what he said is the truth. “It’s not that simple.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

He hunches in on himself, ducking his head. “…Nothing.”

 

No one, not even Grillby, can know about what really happened. They’d think he’s crazy, would never believe him. And if anyone did, then what? The idea that time in the Underground is flexible, manipulable, is too dangerous to ever get out. That kind of power could be catastrophic in the wrong hands.

 

No one can know.

 

…No one can _ever_ know.

 

For a second, Sans’s thoughts darts to the tall monster at the castle—the one who had seemed to know what was going on, before firmly pushing it out of his mind. What he may or may not have known doesn’t matter, what matters is that making sure no one who doesn’t know finds out.

 

“Sans.”

 

“I can’t tell you, alright?” He groans, bringing his knees up and resting his forehead against them. “…I just can’t.” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter now, anyways. I couldn’t have switched places with her even if I wanted to.”

 

“…For what it’s worth,” Grillby mutters quietly. “I’m glad you didn’t.” Sans looks up in irritation, and freezes at Grillby’s melancholy smile. “Who else would come around and plague my life with shitty puns if not you?”

 

Sans laughs, leaning up and resting his head on Grillby’s shoulder, who slings a comforting arm around his shoulders. “You’ve got a point there.” The moment is bittersweet at best, but slowly, Sans feels himself start to relax, and when the tears gather in his eyes again, this time he makes no move to wipe them away when they slip down his cheeks quietly.

 

“I miss her.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“…I wish I’d killed him.”

 

“Asgore?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Hurting someone else wouldn’t have brought her back. All it would have done was gotten you locked up or killed in retaliation.”

 

“I know. I just…”

 

Closing his eyes, Sans leans into the warmth of Grillby’s side, one hand slipping into his coat pocket and wrapping the lock of the human’s hair around his fingers. “…What do I do now?”

 

“Now?” Grillby says mildly. “Now you eat some of Mum’s cookies when she brings them in, then you take Papyrus home, because naturally you’ll refuse her offers to let you stay, because that’s what you _do_ , and then you move on.”

 

“…Right,” Sans mumbles. “Right.”

 

He opts not to tell Grillby that he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to move on.

 

Not from this.

 

Not from her.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Hours later, after being fed, and fussed over, and dodging questions about what exactly he’d been doing for the last couple days from Ignis with Grillby’s help—and subsequently making sure Papyrus doesn’t give anything away, either—Sans takes his brother and goes home.

 

It’s not until they get there and are standing at the entrance to the little cave that it clicks for Sans.

 

This is home.

 

 _Their_ home.

 

Of course, it’s always been their home, but now when he thinks that, he doesn’t just think of Papyrus and him. There’s a third person this was home to.

 

His hand tenses around the strap of the backpack, _her_ backpack, slung around his shoulder. This was her home too.

 

It’s then that he realizes that, despite time resetting, everything in the cave will still be the way he and the human had it when they left this morning. Desperately, he wonders for a moment if he can turn and walk away, go back to Grillby and his parents and say that he’s changed his mind and needs a place to stay, so long as he never has to set foot in this cavern again.

 

But, of course, that’s not an option—and leaving every memory of her to gather dust in an empty room is almost worse than having to go inside and pack it all away. And it has to get packed away, it has to, because Papyrus can’t know, not about any of it.

 

Kneeling down, he smiles the best he can at Papyrus and tries for his most passive voice. “Hey, Paps, I forgot…home is kind of a mess right now. I haven’t had much time to clean the last couple days. How about you play out here with the coloring stuff Mrs. B gave you while I clean up? I’ll come get you once I’m done.”

 

Papyrus frowns. “But you’re real bad at cleaning. I can help!”

 

He chuckles nervously. “Nah, bro. Don’t worry about it. Just hang out here for a bit, okay?

 

Sans watches in trepidation as his brother’s face contorts and he crosses his arms. “No! I want to help!”

 

“No.”

 

“But—“

 

“Papyrus.” Sans’s voice is a dark half-growl, and normally he’d feel bad about speaking to his brother this way, but he’s tired and a mess and all he wants is to collapse and determinedly _not think_ about what has happened, and he’s only trying to _protect_ his brother, can’t he see that _?_ “ _Stay. Here.”_

His brother takes a step back in surprise, and without waiting for a response Sans ducks inside the cave, throwing up a small guardrail of bones along the entryway, not magically charged enough to hurt Papyrus, only intimidate him from trying to get inside. The minute he’s out of the sight of his brother, Sans sighs and slumps against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the stone ground, staring at the room with vacant eyes.

 

It’s all as they left it.

 

God, was that really only a few hours ago?

 

This morning they were here, laughing, talking. They’d been nervous, they’d known they were taking a risk, but Sans doubts either of them, at least not him, really thought this could happen.

 

His eyes jump to the pictures still taped to the wall, at the images of them smiling. His vision flickers and all his can see is blood and unnaturally pale skin, and he clamps a hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to be sick, blinking away the visions of gore as he shakes.

 

After a moment, he straightens up and pushes himself to his feet. He can’t put this off forever.

 

He starts with the tally sheet taped to the wall, taking it down and folding it up before slipping it in-between the pages of the notebook he used to record their time jumps. After that, he takes down each photo, one by one, with care not to damage any of them, taking out the one photo the human had kept from her backpack and placing that on top of the pile. He puts the stack of photos in the front of the notebook, and stuffs it into the human’s backpack. It feels awful to throw it all in a bag like that, but he literally has no other place he can put this stuff without Papyrus finding it.

 

Luckily, most of her other stuff is already in the backpack, so after that it’s just little things: the scraps of paper with their tic-tac-toe games and messes of doodles of each other scribbled on them, the rubber bands he used for her hair, the little ball the human had found lying in the box of stuff Sans intended to trade and had taken to tossing between her hands when thinking. Most of this stuff is things he could probably leave out without Papyrus or anyone else noticing anything suspicious about them, but the more he looks at anything that reminds him of her, the more the knot in his metaphysical throat grows, and he finds himself desperately stuffing away all the little pieces of her presence, unable to look at them for another second.

 

It doesn’t do much good. By the time he’s done, the room still is seeped in the inescapable memory of her presence, and when he turns to the bed it’s only worse.

 

His bed. Her bed. _Our bed_.

 

Her blanket, the dark blue one that had a velvety finish. Her pillow, the lumpy one that had little flowers doodled in marker on the corner of the pillowcase.

 

She slept on the left side, always on the left side, when they took the time to sleep at all, curled up against him with their heads tucked together or with his hand in hers or with an arm thrown over his lower ribcage while he held her sweater sleeve in his hand.

 

Physical contact of some sort, always, as reassurance to them that they were both alive and, at least temporarily, safe as they mentally recuperated after a particularly vicious death or terrifying attempt at escape.

 

Never again. She’ll never sleep in that bed again.

 

He’ll never hold her hand again. He’ll never get to hear her laugh and call him an idiot again. He’ll never get to complain about her dance lessons again.

 

He’ll never be able to tell her how sorry he is for failing her.

 

Slowly it all crumples around him, and Sans feels his legs give out, collapsing onto the bed with his head in his hands, fighting back desperate whimpers as he breaks down.

 

He never even got to tell her that she had a family that cared about her, with him.

 

Sure, he implied it, referenced it, and even framed it using Papyrus as an excuse, but he never said it outright.

 

He knew how much being part of a family, a real family, meant to her.

 

Why didn’t he ever say anything?

 

She was his best friend.

 

Hell, she was his _family_ , in every sense of the word, no matter their differing species.

 

His sister.

 

He blinks once, feeling a desperate laugh claw its way out of his throat, ducking his head down and resting it against his hands.

 

He had a sister.

 

And Asgore’s guards killed her simply because they were ordered to, because of _what_ , not _who_ , she was.

 

It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong, and today all of the Underground sat and cheered over the gaining of a new soul to break the barrier, without a thought to the person that died to gain that soul, and if Sans hadn’t been the one waiting at the Ruins door that day, he would have cheered to.

 

God, when did Monsterkind become as heartless as the humans they sought to be the antithesis of?

 

“…Sans?” He glances up sharply, seeing the vague outline of Papyrus standing outside the doorway, peering blindly through the small gaps between the bones. “Brother? Can I come in yet?”

 

Shit.

 

Wiping at his eyes, Sans calls his voice back to working order. “S-sure, Paps. Just…gimme a sec.” Quickly, he grabs the human’s backpack, now stuffed to overflowing, and wedges it in the gap between his mattress and the cavern wall, throwing the human’s pillow on top of it to hide it from view. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he waves his hand and dissolves the wall of bones.

 

Instantly, Papyrus is through the doorway and into the middle of the room, eyes darting frantically before landing on Sans and then shooting to his side. “Are you okay? I heard you crying.”

 

He sighs. “I’m fine, Paps. Must have heard wrong.”

 

Papyrus frowns. “No, I didn’t.”

 

“Please, Papyrus, just…go to bed. I can’t do this right now.” Turning his back on Papyrus, Sans grabs the human’s blanket and wraps it around himself, curling up in a tight ball. After a moment, he hears Papyrus sigh and go over to his own bed, the constant rustling of his blankets indicating his inability to fall asleep. Internally, Sans berates himself—he never makes Papyrus go to bed without a story to help him calm down and fall asleep, but when he thinks about getting up and trying to do that now, he just…can’t.

 

Instead, he lies awake, listening to his brother’s restless movements slowly fade, before the quiet, even breathing signaling Papyrus is asleep can be heard. Only then does he stretch out from his ball and sit up, pressing his hands to his eye sockets and trying to fight off all the panic and grief he can feel building up in his chest. After a moment, he slides over to the place where he stashed the bag and rummages around inside it, pulling out the worn brown sweater the human had kept as a spare after she traded it for the one Sans had given her. Bringing it up, her presses his face against it, and feels the defensive stoop of his shoulder relax slightly at the familiar feel of the fabric and the warm, homey smell he knows all to well.

 

Lying back down, he keeps the sweater tucked next to him on his pillow, one hand fisted in the material of the sleeve and his face resting against the collar of it.

 

He doesn’t sleep.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans keeps hoping that things will get better after that.

 

They don’t.

 

Most nights he can’t sleep, and the ones he does, he wakes up panting from nightmares, watching her die every time he closes his eyes.

 

He doesn’t know how to go back to his old life. He tries going back into Snowdin, doing his usual work at the diner, but all people do is talk about the new human soul of Asgore’s.

 

And he can’t. He can’t go there and pretend he’s happy and excited, or even okay with any of this, because he doesn’t want to even _think_ about any of it, let alone start pretending something else happened other than what really did.

 

So he doesn’t.

 

He doesn’t even try going back to the forest. He doesn’t want to be anywhere the place where he met her. He doesn’t want that reminder.

 

He sticks to the lower pools, collecting trash and trading directly with the Temmies, the only ones who show no interest in discussing the human soul. At least, not around him—no one can say Temmies don’t have tact when they want to keep someone working for them and subsequently in their debt.

 

Avoiding people doesn’t do much, in the end.

 

It all still haunts him.

 

When Papyrus asks for breakfast, he has to forcibly stop himself from grabbing one of the human’s favorite cinnamon bunnies, like she is still there to give it to. He stops eating crab apples altogether, they just taste like salt now.

 

Everything reminds him of her. He doesn’t know how to make it stop.

 

He wastes full days hunting for her tutu and shoes, pulling all the favors with the Temmies he has to get their assistance, but nothing ever shows up. He’s not sure whether the part of him that wants to pretend none of this is real is grateful for that or not.

 

Still, the thought of her prized possessions rotting in a river or marsh somewhere in Waterfall makes him feel ill.

 

Sans does his best to keep it all hidden from Papyrus, to put up the most cheerful and together front he can manage, but while his brother may be young, he is far from stupid. The more worried glances he catches being directed at him when Papyrus thinks he’s not looking, the more he feels like he’s falling apart. He ends up passing his brother off to Gerson more days than not, unable to stand having Papyrus’s uneasy aura surrounding him, making him feel like he’s drowning when he’s trying so hard just to stay afloat. Gerson never says anything, just accepting it all with a sigh and a look of quietly disgruntled concern, as well as something akin to pity, whenever Sans brings him Papyrus.

 

He knows Gerson thinks he was foolish for allowing himself to care about the human, but he’s past the point of caring. All he wants is Gerson’s silence about the matter around Papyrus, nothing more.

 

And so he spends most of those initial days after her death alone, picking around the lower pools or just lying on his bed inside their home, curled up in the human’s blanket as he dully ignores the presence of the backpack tucked between his bed and the wall. He keeps thinking that maybe it’ll suddenly be ok again, if he just shuts it all out. That things will click into place and he’ll remember how to breathe and how to live.

 

Sans is pretty sure he’s bouncing somewhere between denial and depression, but he’s not sure how those fit onto that whole _grief cycle_ he thinks is supposed to be a thing, and frankly he’s just too tired all the time to care either way.

 

Each day just feels so _long_.

 

And he _knows_ , he knows healing doesn’t happen in a day, or a week, or maybe even months…but the thing is? He doesn’t have time to spend months pulling himself back together, not when Papyrus is reliant on him, and not when everyone around him would question why he’s so upset and such a mess without some obvious inciting incident.

 

Because no one can ever know.

 

And it’s not like he can spend months isolating himself and foisting care of his brother off onto other people.

 

He needs to get better, and he needs to do it now.

 

…Somehow.

 

He tries, he really does, but it feels like he’s unraveling with no sign of stopping.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Papyrus only asks once about the human, mentioning the talk he’d heard about the king’s acquisition of a new human soul, and whether that meant that she’d gotten to go home.

 

A lump in his nonexistent throat, Sans does something he’s grown used to over the years.

 

He tells his brother a bold-faced lie.

 

“Yeah, Paps," he says. “She gave Asgore her soul and went home.”

 

It doesn’t take much convincing on his part to make Papyrus believe that humans can survive without their souls. His brother’s always trusted his word implicitly, which only makes the lies way heavier on his mind.

 

_(Aside from one other occasion shortly after, Papyrus will never mention the human to him again, and Sans suspects he forgot entirely about her existence shortly after that. Not that he should be surprised—while he didn’t know Papyrus’s exact age any more than his own, and could only guestimate, he did know his brother was in the stage of his life where it was up to chance what events he remembered and what he did not. He never figured out if the mental confusion granted to those who experience resets, but don’t remember them, played a factor in Papyrus’s forgetting, but it never really mattered. Him not remembering was better off, in the long run.)_

xxx

A little under two weeks after the human dies, they run out of food.

 

With no other choice, Sans resigns himself to having to go to buy some more, dropping off a disgruntled Papyrus with Gerson, before taking his scant earnings from the little bits of trading he’s done with the Temmies and reluctantly trudging his way to Snowdin.

 

He keeps his head down and his hood up in town, sticking to side streets in order to avoid people and taking a wide berth around the diner, not willing to risk running into Grillby or his parents, who are all not doubt worried over him not coming into town.

 

For the first time, he’s grateful he never showed Grillby the way to the lower pools and where he lives, despite all the trust he places in the other. It’d originally been just to make sure Grillby never tells his parents about where Sans and Papyrus are living, but now it just assures that Grillby can’t find him unless he wants to be found.

 

He doesn’t want Grillby’s pity, he doesn’t want Ignis and her husband’s concern for his wellbeing. He just wants to be left alone.

 

At the shop, he carefully picks out all the essentials, unconsciously grabbing things he knows the human would like until he realizes his mistake and shakily puts them back onto the shelves, ignoring the wrenching pain he feels at doing so.

 

It’s only after he’s paid for the food items and is on his way out the door does he see the small display sitting innocuously in the corner, beckoning him over with its glistening glass vials hanging from thin, delicate chains.

 

He’s heard of these. Memory pendants, meant to hold the dust of a loved one, so that the wearer has a piece of the deceased with them at all times. They’re something of a popular tradition in some monster families and communities. Sans has seen the one Ignis wears for her mother.

 

He stares at them.

 

There’s no dust for him to put in one. Human’s bodies don’t turn to dust upon death unless burnt—in which the result is technically ashes—or cast under certain magic, and her body is gone. There’s nothing left of her.

 

Well, _almost_ nothing left.

 

…And yet still he stares.

 

A heart would be more appropriately traditional, but all the ones here are inverted like monsters’ souls are, and that feels so inherently wrong to him in a way that makes his bones ache.

 

She wasn’t a monster, she was a human, and there was nothing wrong with that. She didn’t have the soul of a monster, but that didn’t mean her’s wasn’t good.

 

His eyes flicker over the various pendants before landing on one hanging nearly out of sight near the wall. It’s attached to a thin metal chain, a hollow, circular outline, with a single, twisting swirl that leaps up from the bottom of its curve into its hollow center, an unconventional shape, but one that is delicate and elegant in its build.

 

It’s perfect.

 

He snatches it without thinking, surreptitiously slipping it into his pocket and dropping some gold on the display counter, unwilling to go up and pay for it properly and face the shop owner’s questions.

 

When Sans gets home, he sits on his bed long after Papyrus has fallen asleep, staring at the glinting pendant in frustration. He doesn’t know why he took it. He doesn’t want to think about any of it at all, let alone have such a constant reminder.

 

He stuffs it under his pillow.

 

It’s another sleepless night.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Three days later, things fall apart.

 

It actually starts off as one of his _ok_ days, where he actually feels like he can move without wanting to die, and that having Papyrus around him won’t be a complete train wreck. Not wanting to ruin it, he opts to spend the day just hanging near their home, lazing about the lower pools with Papyrus, rather than try and force himself to go out and work and risk the dissolution of his not-terrible mood with attempting to find the energy he doesn’t have to go and do such things.

 

Papyrus spends most of the day inside, deliberately ignoring him, which Sans has vaguely expected. He knows his brother is frustrated with him for refusing to talk and the fact that he’s been avoiding Papyrus at every turn. This is the first day Papyrus has actually spent at home and not with Gerson in several now, and as much as a part of Sans feels terrible about that, he figures it’s better his brother is pissed and ignoring him than concerned and trying to discern the truth.

 

Papyrus never connected the dots between Sans’s mood and the disappearance of the human, and for the first time Sans is grateful his brother is too young to fully realize the concept of death, let alone murder, and that this, and Papyrus’s stubborn insistence that all people are good, makes the lie that much easier to sell.

 

…Because no matter what, his brother can’t know. This he reminds himself again and again, day in and day out.

 

No one can ever know anything about it.

 

Not just because of the time-magic issue, but because of the things people would think if they even knew half of the it.

 

After all, whether Sans likes it or not, humans are public enemy number one. He can’t imagine the way people would react, how they would treat him, if they knew what he’d done. The mindset in the Underground had become that of humans vs. monsters long before he was here, and that is more than unlikely to change. The idea of not siding with monsters, or choosing no side whatsoever, is unthinkable. Ironically, a race meant to be made of hope and kindness has unanimously decided to make a species most of them now know almost nothing about their enemy.

 

And Sans hates it, knowing what he knows now, but he can’t change it.

 

Regardless, the fact is that, if people found out exactly what he had done—to the point of attacking and injuring other monsters in defense of a human—at the very least he’d become a social disgrace. At the worst, people might even call for him to serve prison time in the castle lockup for what he did.

 

Frankly, Sans is lucky that whatever questioning the guards did about him apparently never tied him to the human.

 

And, yeah, ok, he gets that his actions are his own and all that. It’s not like he regrets them, and if he only had himself to worry about he’d probably at least _eventually_ say damn the consequences and give those monsters that sat and toasted to the human’s death a piece of his mind. Or his fist, whichever got through to them faster. But the important thing is that it isn’t just himself he has to look out for, it never has been.

 

And Papyrus? Papyrus doesn’t deserve to have any of that thrown onto him. The last thing his brother needs, with all the shit he has to go through because Sans can’t afford to give him the life he deserves and is too prideful to ask for help, is to live his life with, as that Undyne girl kindly put it, a _“gross human lover”_ , a traitor to their own race, for a brother. Maybe Sans made the choices he did in deciding where his allegiances lie, but Papyrus got no say in those choices, and so could not, would not, be affected by them. Ever.

 

Which is why no one can find out the truth about any of it.

 

Not for his sake, but for Papyrus’s.

 

This is what Sans muses on, agreeing with himself again and again in the one mindset he’s established out of all of this, as he absentmindedly wanders around the larger cavern surrounding their home, observing the glinting stones embedded in the ceiling, less visible but still present in the daylight. He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going until he climbs up an outcropping and stops, instantly recognizing the place he’s come to.

 

This is their spot, the rock shelf they’d come to that first night, where they watched the pretend stars and told each other the dark truths of how they got there.

 

He’d never told anyone about the things he told her.

 

Looking around, for a vague second he wonders what would happen if he just laid down and stayed here. If he just gave up and never moved. Would anyone come looking for him?

 

Grillby would be disappointed, maybe a little sad, but he’d get over it eventually and make new friends. In time Ignis would find another lost child to mother.

 

Papyrus would be devastated, at first. In the long run, though, he’d probably be better off. Safe from the fucked up mess Sans has created, safe from the chance of anyone ever finding out. Safe from Sans’s instability, both mental and magical. Someone would take him in, probably Ignis, maybe someone else. Papyrus could have a real family that would love him and look after him.

 

…Would he get to see her again?

 

Where did dissolved souls go after it all went black?

 

Did humans and monsters even go to the same place?

 

He shivers, thinking of the inherent wrongness he remembered of her soul being cut off from her body as she died. Did she even get to die properly? Or was what they did to her a guarantee that she’d never get any sort of final rest?

 

At least if he gave up now, he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

 

He could just…let go.

 

Suddenly, the wind that had been blowing gently before picks up, an inconsistency frequent in parts of Waterfall, and sways him, making him stumble. He feels his legs give out, and suddenly everything is pain, his skull resting against the stone ground where he whacks it falling forward, banging his elbows and knees.

 

The pain reminds him of that first timeline, when they’d slipped and fallen onto the ice, and for a moment, it’s like he’s there again—the ringing pain in his skull, the human’s blood streaked across the ice as she struggles for breath. Watching the life drown out of her eyes.

 

His eyes snap open wide.

 

God, what is he _doing_?

 

He doesn’t want this.

 

He doesn’t want to die.

 

 _She_ wouldn’t have wanted him to die, especially like this, giving up and falling to death’s embrace the same way she tried to, quite literally in her case.

 

And Papyrus.

 

Good lord how could have he even entertained the idea of abandoning his baby brother?

 

They’re the only constants each other has in this world.

 

Quickly, he pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the dull ache in his skull as he rigidly climbs down from the outcropping and staggers home, desperate to get back to his brother and away from this wretched place.

 

When he gets home, all he wants is to curl up in her blanket and forget what just happened, but the minute he’s through the crack in the wall that serves as the entryway to their home, he freezes.

 

The place is a mess, blankets overturned and pillows piled into makeshift forts. It’s not anything new, Papyrus always does this when he decides to play warriors, and usually Sans finds it amusing, but right now he really doesn’t.

 

It’s not even that he’s irritated about the mess, because at this point he is so exhausted he’s well past the point of caring.

 

No, it’s Papyrus, standing in the middle of the room with his wooden spear in one hand and the human’s sweater tied around his neck that stops him in his tracks.

 

His brother is using her sweater as a _cape_ while pretending to be a _Royal Guard_.

 

Papyrus catches sight of him and grins. “Sans! Look, I’m—“

 

“What the hell are you doing?” he says angrily, and Papyrus flinches away, smile faltering.

 

“I don’t—“

 

“ _That,_ ” he snarls, walking forward and yanking the sweater over his brother’s head. “Is not _yours._ ”

 

Papyrus cowers, his expression flickering between uncertainty and confusion. “I know, but—“

 

“You just took this off of my bed without asking!” he growls, feeling the magic writhing inside him sparking into visibility in his eye and tingling down to his fingertips, all the anger and hate he’d been suppressing boiling over as his gaze lands on the toy spear clutched between his brother’s hands. “What? As some sort of sick pretend _trophy_?! Playing the great, human-stopping guard?!”

 

“I—“

 

Papyrus yelps as Sans’s magic grabs the spear from him in a sparking blue glow, throwing it across the room where it smashes into the wall and breaks in half with a sharp crack. He storms forward, blind to his brother’s terrified expression and hasty, stumbling retreat backwards with every step he takes, seeing only the images of the monsters who sat in Snowdin and celebrated the death of the girl who had become his sister. **“You.”** He waves the sweater in Papyrus’s face. **“Don’t touch this. Ever.”**

“S-Sans, please, you’re scaring me!”

 

Sans freezes.

 

He blinks once and looks down, the haze clearing. There are no other monsters here, no guards celebrating the human’s death. Only Papyrus. Papyrus, who’s a crying mess, and staring at him like he’s the scariest thing he’s ever seen. A real, true, terrifying monster.

 

His eyes dart to the human’s sweater and back to his brother, feeling the magic coalescing around him die down, and vanish, the blue light from his eye fading.

 

Oh God, what did he just…?

 

He lashed out at Papyrus.

 

…Sans attacked and terrorized his baby brother.

His baby brother, who had no involvement in this whatsoever and is the one person entirely undeserving of any blame in the slightest. His baby brother who he has let borrow his clothes for his makeshift games before, who could not have known any better.

 

His baby brother, who Sans had sworn would never, ever have to be afraid of him.

 

He distantly feels his knees give out and hit the ground as he buries his face in the human’s sweater, tears welling up and sinking into the fabric as his whole frame shakes with unrestrained grief and regret.

 

Is this what he’s let himself become?

 

“S-Sans?”

 

He feels Papyrus hesitantly touch his shoulder and launches forward, pulling him into a tight hug with a squeak of surprise and the tiniest of flinches from his brother. Pressing his face into Papyrus’s shoulder, Sans hugs the smaller frame to him and desperately tries to halt the trembling of his shoulders. “God, Paps, I’m so…I’m so _sorry_.”

 

Small arms tentatively wrap around his neck, squeezing his head in the best semblance of a hug Papyrus can manage with their current positions. “I-it’s alright.”

 

“No, it’s not alright! I’ve been ignoring you for weeks and dumping you with Gerson every day without asking you! I’ve treated you like crap, haven’t been taking care of you like I should, and just _attacked you_! Nothing about that is alright!”

 

“It’s…it’s okay. You were upset.”

 

Pulling back from the hug, Sans watches Papyrus pointedly avoiding his gaze, before taking his face brother’s in his hands and gently turning his head to face his. “Papyrus, look at me.” Carefully, his brother’s eyes meet his. “That justifies none of my behavior. It’s never okay to let someone take their emotions out on you when it’s not your fault. You can’t ever let anyone do that to you, especially—especially not me.” He sighs, letting go of Papyrus’s face and slumping forward until his skull bumps gently against his brother’s sternum. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess lately, and basically a big jerk. I’ve been pretty terrible at being a good, or even half-decent, brother to you.”

He hears Papyrus sniffle, and a small hand clumsily pats the top of his head. “You’re not terrible, you’re the best brother ever, even when you’re…being a jerk.”

 

Sans laughs slightly, standing up and looking around at the carnage surrounding them. “…We both really did a number on this place, huh?” His eyes land on the broken halves of the toy spear and he winces. “Sorry about your spear…I’ll, uh, get you a new one?”

 

Papyrus frowns and leans against him, poking his side. “Do you not like spears anymore?”

 

He blinks in surprise, and then chuckles. “Got me there. How about a toy sword instead?”

 

There’s a cheer from Papyrus and he relaxes, gaze drawn to the sweater still clutched in one of his hands, smile faltering as he runs his thumb over the worn fabric.

 

“Sans?”

 

He startles and glances down at his brother, who is staring at him in concern. Quickly, he waves his free hand in a dismissive gesture, forcing his grin back onto his face. “Hey, Paps, how about two bedtime stories tonight, to make up for all the nights we’ve missed?”

 

Papyrus nods uncertainly and Sans breaths a sigh of relief, tossing the human’s sweater onto his bed in a deliberately careless manner and resolving not to look at it for the rest of the night, or at least until Papyrus is asleep.

 

“So, which stories do you want?”

 

 

xxx

 

 

Later, after the sun has gone down and Sans has read Papyrus a grand total of three bedtime stories due to his brother’s begging and wheedling following the conclusion of the second, they lie quietly on Papyrus’s bed, Papyrus sleepily drifting off where he’s slumped against Sans’s chest, using his coat as a pillow while Sans idly strokes his brother’s skull and replays their earlier conversation in his mind.

 

“Hey Paps?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Earlier when you said I’d been upset…what did you think I’d been upset about?”

 

Papyrus yawns, pressing his face further into Sans’s coat. “You’re sad that the human went home, right?”

 

Minutely, Sans relaxes. “Yeah, Paps. Just miss her a bit, that’s all.”

 

“…Maybe she’ll come back to visit?”

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, ignoring the burning feeling in his eye sockets. “Maybe she will.”

 

Papyrus yawns again. “I’m tired…”

 

He forces a chuckle. “Then go to sleep.”

 

“Btu I can’tttt.” Papyrus whines, butting his head against Sans’s chest. “Do something.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Sing?”

 

“I can’t sing very well, Paps.”

 

“Try.”

 

“Alright, alright.” His eyes flicker around the room, looking for inspiration, before landing on the human’s sweater sitting on his bed. His soul aches, remembering the times they sat there while she sang quietly. “I’ve got one…it doesn’t have words, though.”

 

“That’s ok.”

 

He sighs, leaning back and closing his eyes, recalling the soft, sad melody the human had crafted. Then, quietly, he hums the familiar notes of her lullaby, letting the sound drift them both to sleep.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The next morning, Sans convinces Papyrus to spend the day at Gerson’s one last time. His brother is understandably not keen on this particular suggestion, especially after the conversation they had just had the night before, but Sans manages to beg him into going, with the promise that Sans will keep Papyrus with him for at least the rest of the week.

 

He feels bad watching Papyrus’s pout as he’s dropped off at Gerson’s, but it’s not like Sans honestly has too much of a choice in this case. There are limited places he can send his brother and know he’ll be relatively safe, and Sans honestly needs Papyrus out of the way today.

 

He needs to pull himself together, at least enough that lashing out at Papyrus like that won’t happen again.

 

And to make sure of that there are things that need to be done.

 

No more pretending, no more avoiding.

 

He goes home, and he opens the human’s backpack.

 

Pulling out the notebook, he takes out the photos, spreading them out on the bed, and grabs the small black photo album he’d convinced the Temmies to part with for a couple promised favors and some human junk. Methodically, he goes through each photo, studying them carefully and flipping through the entries in his notebook, labeling the back of each photo in black pen with the run they were taken on from memory. He finds himself adding little notes to the backs of the photos and the notebook entries as he goes—things like _‘first time we danced’_ or _‘she threw a crab apple at me for making puns about it’_. Nonsense mostly, but things that he is quickly realizing he doesn’t want to forget, ever.

 

When he runs out of photos, he sits and carefully slips each one into the album in chronological order, closing it gently once he’s done. Next, he grabs the notebook and flips through the last of the entries until he’s at a blank page, tapping his pen against it in hesitation. With a sigh, he slumps backwards, rubbing at his eye sockets with a hand.

 

Despite everything, he still isn’t ready to write it down. It feels too much like closing the book on all this, which, yes, is part of his goal with this, but not in that way.

 

Vaguely he wonders if he can just write _‘They killed her. Fuck Asgore.’_ and call it done.

 

Shifting slightly, Sans feels something under his pillow bump against his hipbone. Grumbling, he sticks his hand under and pulls it out, then freezes. Sitting in his hand, glinting softly, is the memory pendant. Running a shaking thumb over the smooth glass, he contemplatively studies the curved, circular shape.

 

It really is perfect for her.

 

Hesitantly, he slips his other hand into the front pocket of the backpack, withdrawing the lock of hair he’d wrapped in a small bit of fabric, and holding it up next to the pendant.

 

It’s possible.

 

Sans feels a slight brush of anger at his hesitation. Any other monster who lost a loved one could do this with no fear of repercussion or backlash. Any other monster wouldn’t even contemplate the advantages or disadvantages of keeping such a constant reminder on them, at least not in the same way he is.

 

But he’s not any other monster, and the person he lost most definitely wasn’t _any_ kind of monster whatsoever, which complicates matters a bit.

 

Gently placing down the memory pendant, he unfurls the scrap of fabric holding the lock of the human’s dark hair and gazes at it.

 

He can’t just keep it as it is and put it in the pendant. That’d be putting too much at risk if anyone saw it, and just feels odd regardless.

 

But…

 

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know the magic it’d take.

 

And he thinks it’s what she would have preferred.

 

Hesitantly, he unleashes his magic, feeling the sparks of energy unfurl and fill the space around him. Carefully, he catches up the memory pendant and lock of hair in the blue glow, keeping them suspended in the air. Turning his attention to the strands of black hair, he calls a blue fire that crackles around and surrounds it. From that fire grains of sand-like dust fall, caught by his magic and directed into the open top of the memory pendant, coalescing and settling at the base of it. When the fire burns out, not a speck of hair is left— it is instead all dust, magically charged in nature like that of deceased monsters, sitting in the memory pendant.

 

Looking at it, Sans has to laugh, because of course. Her dust is dark blue, almost navy in complexion, like her favorite color, like her soul.

 

It’s beautiful.

 

How could it be anything but?

 

Absentmindedly, he grabs a few of the dust particles sitting on top with his magic and pulls them out, bringing them close to his face and studying them.

 

It’d be tradition to spread someone’s dust on their favorite things, but as it is he barely has any, and what he would have considered her favorite things are now likely lying in the bottom of a river somewhere in Waterfall.

 

Well, no, he supposes there is one other thing that might have been one of her favorites.

 

Lifting the small specks of dust, Sans raises them over his head and releases his magic, feeling them settle on his skull and the hood of his coat. Nodding to himself, he studies the pendant, before snapping his fingers and rummaging around in the human’s bag, pulling out one of the spare long strands of pink tulle she’d kept after using them as makeshift bandages.

 

Tearing the tulle into two thinner strips, he takes one and carefully winds it around and between the links of the pendant’s metal chain, holding it up for inspection once finished.

 

It looks right.

 

Carefully, Sans pulls it over his head, the pendant settling in the center of his chest, right where his soul would be if he conjured it to visibility. With a sigh, he lifts it up and tucks it under his sweater where it can’t be seen. Might as well start practicing the necessary precautions now.

 

He still can’t have people asking questions.

 

But…

 

With the weight of the pendant resting against his sternum, Sans suddenly feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in a long while.

 

She lived, she loved, she died, and someone should one day have to answer for that.

 

A constant reminder, as it should be.

 

Resolutely, he grabs his notebook and pen, and begins to write.

 

_Twenty-seven (continued)—this is the likely last entry, as this is the final continued timeline. There never will again be a time jump. At least, there will not be one that will return to here._

_The person, the human, who I considered both my friend and my sister, whose name I can no longer remember and has been destroyedbeyond recognition in all these journal entries, is dead. Murdered by Asgore’s guards for the sake of another soul towards a war that will destroy us all._

_They never talked to her, they never listened to her, they never even met her. Yet they still passed judgment on her._

_She’s not coming back._

_I…really miss her._

_…The crazy thing is, I can’t even find a healthy way to express what I’m feeling. Everyone around me applauds her death, celebrates it, even._

_It makes me feel sick._

_~~It makes me want to hurt them.~~ _

_At this point I’ve even stupidly, blindly lashed out at my brother in my misdirected anger, simply because he was the easiest target._

_~~I’d never felt so disgusted with myself. I’m so sorry, Papyrus.~~ _

_If people ever knew the things I’d done to help her, the choices I’d made…_

_Well, that’s exactly why no one can know._

 

_Even if I wish they could. Even if I wish they could know even a fraction of the kind of person she was, what she meant to me._

_What really happened to her._

_~~I’m so sorry. I hate myself.~~ _

 

_~~It’s all my fault.~~ _

 

_~~I should have protected you.~~ _

 

_I should have done something. As it is, she saved my life and I can do ~~fuck all~~  nothing to make up for that._

_I tried ignoring all this, pretending it didn’t happen._

_Didn’t really help._

_So I’m giving up on that idea. It was stupid anyways._

_She was one of the two most important people in my life. Someone should remember her._

_I’m not going to forget, ever._

_~~…Someday, I’ll make Asgore pay for what he did to her.~~ _

_It’s hard, knowing what to do now._

_A lot of the time I feel like giving up._

_I don’t know how to live again now._

_I’m going to try, though._

_That’s what I know she’d want._

_And I suppose that’ll have to be enough._

With a sigh, Sans closes the notebook and sets it down, bringing a hand up to clasp the pendant underneath his sweater.

 

Isn’t writing things down supposed to bring closure or something?

 

Sure doesn’t feel like it.

 

Well, at least it's done now.

 

Grabbing the notebook and photo album, he slips them both into the human’s backpack. It’ll still have to do for now as the storage for her stuff, at least until he finds somewhere more secure to keep them. Going to zip up the bag, his hand brushes the tag stitched into its lining near the top and he stops, noticing for the first time the words loosely scrawled on in marker. Ripping the tag off, Sans holds it up so that he can inspect it, and feels his soul jump when he reads the words written on it.

 

_Property of K. Lin_

Shakily, he places the tag back down into the bag and zips it up, shoving it back between the wall and his bed.

 

 _Lin_ matters nothing to him. Her parents treated her like crap and she wanted no association with her family name any more beyond what she had to.

 

No, it’s what comes before that which is important.

 

_K._

Her name started with a K.

 

One day, he swears, he will find a way to re-know the rest.

 

xxx

 

 

A month after the human’s death, Sans is having what he’d hesitantly call a good day. He’d managed to drag himself to Snowdin with Papyrus the day before to buy him the replacement sword for the toy spear he’d broken, and had spent the morning playing with his brother for the first time in weeks.

 

It had felt…well, good.

 

Funny how it seems stranger now to have a day that isn’t a complete struggle, rather than to have one that is. Before all of this, the opposite would have been the case, but he supposes a lot has changed.

 

Sighing, he leans back and looks up at the cavern ceiling. Papyrus had fallen asleep earlier in the afternoon, his energy finally overridden by the exhaustion of spending the whole morning running around. No matter how excitable his brother is, he still is a little kid, after all.

 

This has left Sans with his own self as his sole company for a while, and he had opted to just hang around for a bit out in the main cavern, trying to fight the call to take a nap along with his brother. He’s made a point to start skipping naps of any form in the hopes of being tired at night lessening the chances of having a nightmare. It hasn’t done much good yet, but maybe over time…

 

Pulling out the human’s phone from his coat pocket, he flips it open and lazily scrawls through the applications on it. He’d more or less adopted her phone as his own, figuring if he had to eventually get a phone, it might as well be this one, if only so that he could keep the music they had shared together.

 

Just another quiet, subtle way to remember her.

 

Opening the music application and fiddling with the controls, a song begins to play, and Sans grins sadly and closes his eyes, resting his head against the stone he is leaning on. This was one of her favorites, frequently used in her attempts to teach him to dance.

 

He wonders if he still could. He remembers most of the steps she taught him.

 

There’s the sound of movement off to his left, and his eyes snap open. Sitting up quickly, and turning quickly to face the potential danger, his readies to call his magic, and then stiffens in surprise.

 

It’s the little monster. The one that used to come visit the human.

 

And just like that, the peaceful tranquility of the moment is gone.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

This is his safe place. This monster is not welcome anywhere near here.

 

The monster bobs closer, its attention on the phone in his hand. It must have heard the music and come here following it, like it used to do with the human.

 

Growling, Sans snaps the phone shut, cutting off the music, and stuffs it into his pocket. “Scram.” Standing up, he goes to walk away and hears a plaintive whistle, and something bumping against the back of his leg. Looking over his shoulder, the monster is still there, floating just behind him. “What are you, stupid? Go home.”

 

The monster chirps, batting at his leg with a fin when he tries to leave again, and he grits his teeth, whirling around to face the monster with a barely restrained snarl. “What don’t you get?! She’s. Not. Here. She’s _gone_. _Leave.”_

They back up a little, but then stop, letting out a humming sound, and Sans can’t help the sudden anger he feels. This monster knows _nothing_. They never even met the human in this timeline, as far as he’s aware. They have no right to be here.

 

Calling his magic, formless blue coalesces into spinning bones around him, and he launches several at the monster, causing them to squeak and shoot back. “ _Go away!_ There’s nothing here for you!” he screams, flinging more bones at the monster as it evades and retreats backwards with each attack. “She’s dead! She’s dead and she’s _never coming back!_ ” With that, he gives up on trying to keep his magic in a stable form and calls it all in one giant blast of raw, blinding energy right where the monster is hovering. Shrieking, it just barely dodges the attack before shooting off, screaming in a high-pitched whistle as it disappears between a crack in the cavern walls. Panting, Sans releases his magic and falls to his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath and get his rapidly thrumming soul under control.

 

“Well…that was…quite the intriguing, if ineffective, display.”

 

In an instant, Sans is on his feet again, magic catching alight in his eye again as he stares at a tall, thin, and familiar shape.

 

“You!”

 

The monster who had unlocked his magic inhibitors at the castle.

 

“Me,” the monster says mildly.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

 

The monster snorts. “I’d make a comment about how a monster your age shouldn’t be using such language, but that would be, dare I say, a little hypocritical on my part.”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

 

“Ah, yes, well. I’m here to speak to you, obviously.”

 

“If Asgore’s changed his mind about having me locked up, he can damn well come tell me himself,” Sans snarls, keeping his posture defensive and his magic ready at a moment’s notice.

 

“No, of course not. He doesn’t have it in him to lock up a child, no matter what some guards may have wanted,” the monster says in easy amusement, waving a hand. “This is more of a…personal interest on my part.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Sans says, turning his back on the monster and walking away. “I kinda have a thing about not talking to Asgore’s people unless I have to, no matter what their reasoning. I’m sure you can see yourself out. Don’t come back here or you’ll regret it.”

 

“…It will happen again.” Any humor or lightness that was in the monster’s voice is gone.

 

Slowly, Sans turns around, watching him carefully. The monster offers him a brittle smile, his expression otherwise indiscernible.

 

“Another human will fall, and will die for the sake of Asgore’s pride. Your one? She wasn’t the first, kid, and she won’t be the last. It’ll keep happening, until they either stop falling or we break the barrier and instigate our own genocide.”

 

Sans crosses his arms over his chest, regarding the monster critically. There are a million questions he could ask to that statement, and so he simply goes with the first couple that come to his head.

 

“…Who are you? What do you want from me?”

 

The monster chuckles, straightening up and placing his arms behind his back as he looks down at Sans. “My name is W.D. Gaster. I’m the one trying to stop this train wreck Asgore’s started before it costs any more lives, and perhaps save us all from war if there’s time. And as for you, Sans?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well I was hoping you might be the one who can help me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRESENTING W.D. GASTER. BEHOLD HIS GLORY.
> 
> But, uh, in all seriousness, sorry this chapter took so long. It was supposed to be shorter, and then it wasn't, and...yeah. I'm still not really satisfied with how parts of it turned out, but at this point I'm just calling it quits so that I can put this out in a relatively timely manner.
> 
> So, uh, yeah. 
> 
> For some enhanced perspective, while I don't have anything I can point to and say definitively 'this is the song', I was roughly thinking of the lullaby from Pan's Labyrinth ([here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19bBGxf5k6k)) when thinking of Integrity's lullaby.
> 
> Also! Make sure to check out these awesome drawings of Integrity by a couple of very awesome people[ here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/140845521327/lakesandquarries-a-super-messy-scribble-of) and [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/139285893102/cyrenea-for-pastel-clark-who-bugs-me-near)  
> You can find my shitty 'official' references of Integrity [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/138917047627/more-shitty-art-of-the-integrity-child-from-not-as) and[ here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/137515262652/some-rough-sketches-of-nameless-integrity-child), or just check out her full tag [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/tagged/Integrity-child-%28Undertale%29).
> 
> And, as always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	10. The Stories of Our Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Royal…what now?” 
> 
> Gaster groans and rolls his eyes, looking vaguely disgruntled. “I designed the Core? The giant power—“
> 
> “I know what the Core is!” Sans snaps. “It’s impossible not to know what that thing is, considering it powers the whole Underground! Just because I don’t pay attention to the politics of the Capital doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I don’t live under a rock.”
> 
> Gaster pointedly looks up at the cavern ceiling above them “Well…”
> 
>  
> 
> (In which a rather crucial conversation is had.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slides in awkwardly* Guess who finally updated! Sorry it took so long, there's a longer explanation after the chapter, but, uh, basically there was just a lot going on. I'll try to keep it from happening again. During the interim, I did do a short character piece for Integrity, which you can find [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6282619/chapters/14395852)
> 
> Also! Thank you very much to brambleberrie for the amazing fanart they did of the opening scene from the last chapter ([here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/140874607267/i-really-enjoyed-the-recent-chapter-so-i-roughly)).
> 
> Additionally, I managed to get an absolutely astounding commission of Integrity done at Sakura Con last weekend, which is what I'm going to point to and scream about whenever people ask me about her from now on, which you can find [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/141812936377/ok-so-i-was-at-sakura-con-this-weekend-and-as-a).

 “…Who are you? What do you want from me?”

 

The monster chuckles, straightening up and placing his arms behind his back as he looks down at Sans. “My name is W.D. Gaster. I’m the one trying to stop this train wreck Asgore’s started before it costs any more lives, and perhaps save us all from war if there’s time. And as for you, Sans?” He raises an eyebrow. “Well I was hoping you might be the one who can help me.”

 

Sans blinks. This guy really likes to go with the long and vaguely obscure answers, doesn’t he?

 

“…W.D. Gaster?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sans slumps slightly, careful to still keep his guard up behind his casual posture, and shrugs. “Never heard of you.”

 

The monster…Gaster, sighs and waves a hand. “Of course you haven’t, my name isn’t that public unless you’re around the Capital or go asking for it. I’m the Royal Scientist.”

 

“The Royal…what now?”

 

Gaster groans and rolls his eyes, looking vaguely disgruntled. “I designed the Core? The giant power—“

 

“I know what the Core is!” Sans snaps. “It’s impossible not to know what that thing is, considering it powers the whole Underground! Just because I don’t pay attention to the politics of the Capital doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I don’t live under a rock.”

 

Gaster pointedly looks up at the cavern ceiling above them “Well…”

 

“This is a _cave,_ ” Sans says with a scowl. “Not a rock. Not that it’s any of your business, either way.”

 

“Actually, I was going to point out that we’re all technically living under many rocks,” Gaster says, raising his eyebrow. “Perks of living underground. Regardless, I am aware you’re not an idiot. I wouldn’t be here if you were.”

 

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here at all,” Sans mutters, giving the other monster a pointed glare.

 

“I told you, I need—“

 

“Cut it with a grandiose bullshit for a minute, alright?” he snaps, uncrossing his arms from their defensive posture. “Yadda, yadda. Trying to save the world and protect all life and all that jazz. Even if I believed you—which for the record, I currently don’t, as you’ve given me no reason to—that still is _not_ an explanation for why you’re talking to me. I’m the kid the Royal Guard would make public enemy number one if they got their way, not a super soldier.”

 

Gaster sighs. “I happen to be aware of that as well. That doesn’t mean you are not valuable. Your age is hardly a factor, you’ve obviously shown yourself to be incredibly intelligent, you wouldn’t be able to hack my cameras otherwise, and I frankly don’t give a flying fuck what the Royal Guard does and does not want. I don’t answer to them, and Asgore gave up trying to direct me in what I may or may not do decades ago.”

 

“Great. Fine. Still not an explanation. People don’t go around talking to random kids, no matter their _intelligence,_ without a damn good reason. Especially when they’re aware that kid sold out the principles and core beliefs of the Underground for a human.”

“And that in itself is precisely what’s interesting about you, Sans,” Gaster says quietly, regarding him with indiscernible eyes. “The fact that you _did_ sell out the principle beliefs about humans that all monsters are taught to believe by their parents and community from the time they are children.” He looks around the cavern around them. “Perhaps…this…plays a factor, but I doubt that is the entirety of it.”

 

Sans shifts uncomfortably. “…What?”

 

Gaster hums quietly, turning back to Sans. “When I met you at the castle, the way you looked at your human when you pleaded with Asgore for her soul, that wasn’t the look of someone who’d known the other a couple of days.”

 

Sans scowls, looking off to the side.

 

“That was the looks of someone who’d been with the other for months, years…lifetimes, perhaps. The look of someone who’d lost someone they love very much.”

 

“…I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Sans, please.” Gaster’s voice is softly hesitant, laced with something akin to sympathy, and a bit of pain. Carefully, Sans turns his head back to study the monster in front of him. He looked tired, so tired, in a way Sans is achingly familiar with. “…I need you to tell me what you know. What you remember…about…everything, because I know it’s certainly a lot more than nothing.”

 

Sans curls in on himself, shifting his weight and lowering his eyes. “And what exactly is this everything you’re suggesting?” he asks softly, pushing down any vague feeling of hope at his suspicions. Just like Gaster, he has to know. “Are you asking me about what I think you are?”

 

Gaster sighs. “…I have a machine that can pick up the time distortions in the Underground. It’s barely functional and highly unreliable, only a prototype, really, but…enough. I know at least several resets occurred by your human’s hand, but—“

 

“Twenty-six,” Sans mumbles, and Gaster freezes, staring down at him with wide eyes. “Twenty-six times. This…this is the twenty-seventh run.”

 

Gaster forcibly relaxes, folding his hands behind his back and regarding him with unreadable eyes. “How much do you remember?”

 

He laughs bitterly. “My problem isn’t remembering, it’s forgetting. You said it yourself, I looked like I’d known her for a lifetime. Well, whatever it was, it sure felt close to that.”

 

Gaster closes his eyes, bowing his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Not like it’s your fault.”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Regardless…” Gaster trails off, and for a moment, they both stand there in silence, avoiding meeting each other’s gaze. Hesitantly, Sans eventually looks at the other monster out of the corner of his eye. With his tall, thin, almost skeletal build and long black tailcoat over his white sweater, the scientist cuts an imposing figure, the ink-black scars extending in opposite directions from each of his eyes notwithstanding. Gaster really does fit the textbook mental image of an eccentric mad scientist, now that Sans thinks about it.

 

…Of course the only other monster in the Underground to have any semblance of an idea of what he’s been through would be this one.

 

Sans snorts softly at the thought, and when Gaster looks back at him sharply at the sound, he snorts again, before breaking into fast, desperate, gasping giggles, slumping over and wrapping his arms around himself, overtaken with the sudden relief of definitively knowing for the first time he is not wholly alone in this burden.

 

“ _Tibia_ honest, I thought I was the only one who knew.”

 

As soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, he freezes, eye sockets unseeing as his words echo in his head.

 

That was the very first pun he’d made since she’d died.

 

…The same exact one he’d used when he met her at the door, that first run oh so long ago.

 

He wants to laugh, to dance, to scream, to cry. He’s laughing and making puns and feeling all this sudden relief and the beginnings of hope, and she’s _not here._

 

She’s not here, and despite all his attempts to push his grief down and be normal for Papyrus, the idea of finding any semblance of joy in these little things about life he used to love so much feels frightening.

 

“…Are you alright?”

 

Sans flinches slightly, and glances up to see Gaster a step closer than he was before, staring down at him in concern.

 

Coughing awkwardly, he straightens up and looks away. “F-fine. So, uh, how…” He trails off, unsure how to finish his question.

 

“How am I aware of all…this?” Gaster waves a hand, his expression vaguely amused. Hastily, Sans nods, and Gaster smiles slightly. “Like yourself, Sans, I am a rather…unusual exception to the way things work around here.” He quirks an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Or, more specifically, I have been around a long time and have witnessed enough to _make_ myself somewhat exempt from the rules. None of your natural talent for disregarding the workings of time-space altogether.”

 

Hopefully, Sans looks up at him. “So you remember…?”

 

At this, Gaster sighs and looks away. “…No.” Sans’s expression crumples, slumping in on himself.

 

Of course not. Wanting someone else to be able to remember is asking too much.

 

Quietly, Gaster continues, “I am aware of the existence of the time anomalies in the unique bubble of existence that is the Underground, have found crude ways to monitor them, and to perhaps in the future preserve readings between resets…but…no. I don’t retain any memory of what occurs in a timeline after it is reset.”

 

  
“S-so…”

 

“So that is what makes you so essential Sans.” Carefully, Gaster takes a couple further steps forward until he is standing right in front of Sans. He crouches down until he is at Sans’s eye level, and normally Sans would kick someone for that, because he hates any reminder of how short he is compared to most children his age, but now, in his nervous panic, being able to look at Gaster without having to crane his neck to see his face is reassuring.

 

“I believe the key to stopping this bloody track Asgore’s foolishness has put us on is the very time fluidity that we have seen manipulated, and you…” Gaster sighs. “You are the first monster I have ever come across in all my years, of which there have been many, able to remember through the overlapping timelines. The only one with any sort of real knowledge about how this works. That knowledge—it could be the breaking point between success or failure. I know it is not fair to ask a child such as yourself to take on part of such a difficult job, but…well,” Gaster chuckles dryly. ”At this point, I’m getting rather desperate.”

 

Hunching in on himself, Sans stares down at the ground. “…Why do you care? About all this, I mean. Why not just let it happen? If you don’t remember, then…”

 

Gaster visibly hesitates, avoiding looking at him. “W-well, I’d think wanting to prevent the inevitable destruction of all Monsterkind ought to be a good enough reason not to—“

 

“Stop,” Sans snaps, cutting him off. “It’s not just that. You talked about the other humans. You said it would happen again, that she wasn’t the first. What’s your stake in _them?_ If they meant nothing you wouldn’t have mentioned them.”

 

Gaster winces. “I needed to get your—“

 

“ _Don’t lie,_ ” he snarls, taking a step backwards. “If you want me to help you, if you want me to _trust_ you, you don’t lie to me. Not now, not ever. The way you talked about the other humans, they don’t mean nothing in this. So _talk_. Or I leave, right now, and make sure you can’t find your way back here ever again.”

 

“Look, kid…Sans. It’s—it’s a long story.”

 

Resolutely, Sans drops into a sitting position on the ground, crossing his arms and glaring up at Gaster, who sighs and looks down at the bare, rocky ground in disgust. “Oh, for fucks sake…” Gingerly, he sits down across from Sans, eyeing the scuffs of dirt and mud marring the area around where they sit.

 

When Gaster finally looks at him, Sans does his equivalent of raising an eyebrow in expectation. "Well, go on then.”

 

Sighing, Gaster, leans back and peers up at the cavern ceiling, clearly mulling over his words. “…How much do you know about the humans that came before yours?”

 

Sans shrugs. “Not much? There were three, two older than her, one younger. That’s about it.”

 

Gaster hums contemplatively. “Four, technically, if you count little Chara. Which you rather must, given this story starts with them.”

 

“…Chara?”

 

“The very first human to fall into the Underground. Well, the first to survive. Apparently stories about the mountain we’re all under being cursed existed even in their time. Not surprising, really. Humans have been throwing themselves down here since the barrier first formed, but they were all dead the minute they hit the ground, and their souls were always gone by the time a monster found them. Perhaps they didn’t have the right…makeup. Perhaps it was because it was always the bodies of adults we found, and Chara was the first child to fall in. Regardless, fall Chara did, and when they survived the landing, they were found by Prince Asriel…have you really never heard this story before?”

 

Quietly, Sans shakes his head. “I, uh, have recently become aware of the fact that I’m not exactly…up to date on a lot of the policies and history of this place.”

 

Gaster waves a hand. “It hardly matters. This story is so rarely passed along these days that I wouldn’t be surprised if any regular monster your age didn’t know it. Over time, monsters have simply more or less forgotten the detailed reason this whole human souls endeavor started, and goodness knows Asgore himself won’t fucking talk about it unless forced to. Too busy living in denial.”

 

Slowly, Sans nods his head, slightly bewildered by the onslaught of information. "So…Asriel. Asgore’s…son?”

 

“Bingo. Long story short, Asriel finds Chara, and brings them home with him as a temporary place to stay, only Chara has no intentions of going back to the Surface any sooner than they have to, and Asriel and the kid get real attached to each other quite quickly. So, Asgore and Toriel, the Queen, more or less adopt Chara as a second child and raise them along with Asriel. Chara…they seem like a good kid, and all of a sudden everyone’s hopeful that maybe all humans aren’t as bad as we thought. That they can change and that there’s even some good ones, and if we find a way to break the barrier eventually then we’ll have Chara to be our diplomat. Everything’s fine, better than fine, for near a year. Until one day out of nowhere, Chara gets sick…real sick. There’s nothing anyone can do, no matter what we try or who tries it. And believe me, _everyone_ scrambles to find some sort of cure fast, but by morning…Chara’s gone. Asriel, he loses it—absorbs Chara’s soul and crosses the barrier with their body, trying to take them back to those flowers on the surface they loved so much.”

 

Gaster pauses, exhaling slowly. “Only, the minute he’s up there, the humans freak. They think he’s killed Chara or something. They attack him, and Asriel—pure, sweet kid that he is—refuses to hurt them, even in self-defense. He makes it back across the barrier and into the throne room, but by then, with all the injuries he’s sustained, it’s too late. His dust spills across the floor right in front of his waiting parents, and both he and Chara are gone, souls and all, just like that.”

 

Sans leans back, exhaling slowly. “Well…shit.”

 

Gaster cackles quietly, the sound hollow and fake. “Quite. Asgore, he…well, to say he _also_ loses it is an understatement. He declares war on humanity—every human who falls down here must die, seven souls to break the barrier and give him the power of a god. It’s a crazy plan, obviously, but…the deaths of Chara and Asriel were seen by almost everyone as the final sign that there’d never be a way to find peace between monsters and humans, and so they all went along with it. Monsterkind needed hope, something to believe in. A game plan, if you will…and, well, Asgore gave it to them.”

 

With a sigh, Gaster closes his eyes. “Toriel, she was horrified by the idea. She knew we were in no state to go to war again, and the thought of killing innocent people, innocent _children,_ she couldn’t stand it. She more or less stopped speaking to Asgore outside of diplomatic matters, and spent most of her time in the Ruins or Snowdin, well away from the castle. Then one day, out of the blue, she more or less just vanished.” Gaster chuckles lowly. “Of course, now I know that the date of her disappearance coincided with the time the first human after Chara fell in, but I wouldn’t conclusively know that until years later, after I got the tech to measure disturbances in the barrier, including past ones, running. Regardless, Toriel disappears, and for months no one sees her. There were rumors that she'd finally snapped and left Asgore, that she’d become a hermit, that she’d offed herself…no one really knew. The popular theory was that she’d fled permanently to the Ruins, because about the same time she vanished the door to the Ruins shut. That, of course, is impossible to prove, given it takes an incredibly powerful monster to open the door, Asgore refuses to because of guilt, and the few monsters that can phase through the door or find another way into the Ruins have never found neither hair nor hide of her.”

 

“Then what?” Sans asks cautiously, his soul thrumming in a kind of low pain at what he know must come next.

 

“Then, months later, there were sightings of a human in Snowdin, and when the calls came Asgore and his entourage rushed down immediately. They found the kid outside a bakery. He was young, couldn’t be older than seven, maybe eight. Real rough and tumble looking, with these pink toy fighting gloves stuffed in his back pocket and a yellow bandana tied around his neck.” Gaster swallows, his face is pale, eyes unseeing. “He was wearing this striped sweater, red and purple, clearly homemade, like the ones Toriel used to make for Chara and Asriel, and was carrying this cake box nearly half his size.”

 

“You were there,” Sans mumbles in realization.

 

“Yes,” Gaster answers softly. “I was. I’d come along with Asgore’s group. I was young, but I remembered the war, and at the time I held a lot of hatred for humanity.” He looks down, expression tired. “I thought I was going to watch justice be served, not…not a little boy march up no-nonsense to Asgore and tell him that _"Mama"_ warned him about this, but he doesn’t want to fight, and he knows Asgore doesn’t as well. That it’s his mother’s birthday, and all he wants is to please go home with her surprise cake before she realizes he’s left the Ruins and panics.” Gaster sighs. “And Asgore? Asgore drew his weapon and struck that child down as the whole town stood there and cheered. There was—there was so much blood, and when the boy finally fell down, Asgore ripped his soul from him as he laid there struggling to get back up.”

 

Gaster pauses, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then there was this scream, and there’s Toriel, standing on the path that leads into town from the forest. Asgore reached out to her, and she fled, back towards the forest…the last time anyone ever saw her again. And Asgore and his guards? They just picked up the boy’s body and took his soul in this little glass container, a container my own mentor and myself had designed, and left.”

 

“…No one picked up the cake,” Gaster mutters quietly. “That was always the part that really stuck with me. They tok his body and his soul and everyone went on with their day, but nobody stopped to pick up that damn birthday cake just lying there in the street.”

 

Sans shivers, the mental image reminding him all too much of the monsters he had watched toast the human’s death even before the last of her blood had been scrubbed free from the ground where she fell. Shaking his head and refocusing in on Gaster, he watches the other monster’s expression mirror the exhaustion he feels. “… Why do I get the feeling this isn’t all as simple as just that?”

 

“Because it isn’t,” Gaster says quietly. “I was young, barely even close to being considered an adult. I’d known Toriel and Asgore since the war, they were like the doting older siblings I’d never had, even bullied their way into making sure the previous Royal Scientist made me a lab assistant once I expressed an interest. I didn’t want to believe…” He sighs. “I pushed it out of my mind. Told myself that this was for the good of Monsterkind, that I would understand better when I was older.”

 

He trails off, tilting his head back up to study the cavern ceiling. “I never knew too much about the third human. It was quite a few years after the second, enough that not many monsters even remembered the details of how the child died. I’d just inherited the Royal Scientist position, and was so busy holed up in the lab with work that I didn’t even know about the human until he was chased by the guards well into Hotland. The one thing I did find out was that he was caught _only_ because he chose to stop and help a monster who had tripped and was at risk of falling into the lava. If he’d just kept running, who knows? Maybe he would have found a safe place to hide.”

 

Sans stays silent as Gaster looks back down at him, face unreadable. “I was there when they brought him into the castle, to very same corridor they brought your human. He couldn’t have been much older than her, maybe a year or two at most. Had this…” Gaster reaches up idly, gesturing at his head. “Mop of kind of… tan-brown hair that stuck up in every direction. All he had with him was an old frying pan and an apron he was using as a sling for a broken arm…made it all the way to Hotland, and didn’t even have a real weapon, only that pan. Just got lucky, I suppose. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. And this kid, he didn’t even try to fight back, just stood there and told Asgore that he knows Toriel, and if she loved Asgore once, then that means he must have it in him to do the right thing, even now… Asgore hesitated, and I wondered for a moment if the kid really could talk him down, but with all those guards standing there watching, Asgore was too much of a coward to risk looking weak to the promise he’d made. Poor boy never stood a chance. After, I—well, I didn’t know what to think for a long time.”

 

“And…” Sans gulps nervously. “The fourth human?”

 

“Ah, That.” Gaster’s mouth twists up into a vaguely reminiscent smile. “That is the rather complex part of this story.”

 

Sans blinks in confusion as Gaster straightens up slightly, a hand sliding into the breast pocket of his coat and withdrawing a single square of paper, holding it out to Sans, who takes it carefully and stares at it, eye sockets widening. It’s a photograph of a young human girl, maybe a year or so older than his sister had been, if that, wearing a deep purple hoodie, with dark skin and tight black-brown curls that frame her face. There’s a pair of rounded glasses perched crookedly on her nose, and she’s holding a messy notebook with loose papers sticking out of it, waving a singular sheet around in the air as she glares at the camera, mouth open in what was likely the middle of some sort of reprimand or heated explanation when the photo was taken.

 

“For months people had been speculating about the human that had been supposedly sighted all over the Underground. They were like a ghost, impossible to track, impossible to prove the existence of,” Gaster murmurs, “And then, one day I found her, hiding out in the bottom of my lab.” He quirks a fond smile. “She was screwing around with one of my old abandoned projects, taking it apart and reconstructing it and muttering gibberish about timelines all the while. When she saw me, the first thing she said to me was _‘Can you please hand me that wrench, Doctor?’”_

 

“…She already knew you,” Sans guesses quietly.

 

“Indeed. Told me that was why she wasn’t afraid of me the first time I remember finding her, said I’d already met her once before and hadn’t hurt her then, asked me to help her. I couldn’t bear to send another one straight to Asgore and to their death, so I… ” Gaster trails off, taking the photo back from Sans and studying it morosely. “Almost everything of what little I know about how the timelines work came from her—she was an incredibly intelligent child, real head for engineering and mechanics. She wanted to find a way to understand the fluidity of the timelines, to measure them and perhaps one day control and stabilize them. A lot of the stuff I use now to study the timelines is based off of her original designs.” He sighs. “She was a good kid. All she wanted was to learn, to understand. She thought it was the key to finding a way to break the barrier. Even picked up the basics of my native language in just a few weeks so that I wouldn’t have to waste time translating my notes into Common for her. I already more or less lived in the labs, it was easy to hide a person down there full time in my private work area. She was safe there for months.” He quirks a fond smile. “She had the most appalling coffee addiction for a child her age. Would stay up all night writing notes on every piece of paper in sight in this pink glitter pen she loved so much.”

 

“What happened to her?” Sans asks cautiously, already fully aware of the answer.

 

“She died,” Gaster says with a bitter laugh. “One of my old assistants must have figured out what was going on, maybe I left one of the papers with her notes on it lying around in the main lab by accident, I don’t know, but regardless he guessed correctly and went straight to the king. Asgore, he didn’t believe him, obviously, thought there was no way one of his oldest friends would do such a thing, but everyone wanted reassurance so he brought a set of guards along with him to visit me just to doubly prove my innocence.”

 

Gaster blinks, fingers gripping the photo he holds tightly. “They saw her, just sitting there eating lunch, staring like they couldn’t believe their eyes. I told her to run, to get out. I tried to stand between Asgore and his guards to buy her some time, I knew Asgore wouldn’t risk hurting me, but there were just too many, and there was all this chaos and fighting and magic going everywhere and…” He closes his eyes, expression pained. “A fire broke out. Someone must have bumped into one of the experiment tables, knocked something flammable over. It spread so fast, all over the place. Asgore grabbed me and dragged me away from the part of the lab on fire. She was still trapped in there, crying out for help. I screamed, I kicked, I tried to help her, but Asgore held me back. Maybe he thought he was protecting me, maybe he just wanted the fire to do the dirty work.”

 

Gaster exhales, opening tired eyes. “If she’d just stayed there, had let herself die, the timeline would have reset. She kept a new save point each day, everything would have been fine, but instead she fought her way to the edge of the fire. She panicked, I think, couldn’t find me and thought I was in trouble. By the time she managed to get to us…the fire had done enough. Asgore ripped her soul from her as she drew her dying breaths.”

 

“…Christ,” Sans mutters quietly. At least his sister’s death had been relatively quick, that was…well, Sans wouldn’t wish that kind of slow, painful torture on anyone.

 

“After that, I—” Gaster laughs shakily. “I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to let what happened to that little girl, _my_ little girl, happen to another child. I found crude ways to monitor the timelines and the barrier. I began putting in cameras in Hotland and Waterfall to try and quickly find any humans that fell down. Of course," he looks ruefully at Sans, “I wasn’t counting on far too smart little monsters hacking my cameras and using the resets as a way to keep a human’s activities hidden. The minute I knew a human was out there, I tried to locate them, but…well.” Gaster’s eyes flicker around the cavern they are sitting in. “It took me near a month just to find this place—you’re far too clever and far too good at hiding yourself for me. I’m sorry for that, if I’d been able to find you two…”

 

“Still not your fault,” Sans mutters past the lump in his metaphorical throat. “W-we…we didn’t think there was anyone out there that would help us. We thought we were on our own.” Deliberately, he pushes down the new pain he feels at the knowledge that there was someone else out there who might have been able to help them—help her. Now isn’t the time to focus on that. Carefully, he pushes himself to his feet, Gaster doing the same, and they stand there for a moment, regarding each other quietly.

 

“It _will_ happen again, Sans,” Gaster says softly. “It’s not a question of if, but when. More children like those boys, my girl, your friend…they will die for Asgore’s foolish, prideful plan. Unless a way is found to stop it.”

 

Crossing his arms, Sans studies Gaster pointedly. “Alright, so what is the game plan, then? Why do you need me and my freaky timeline memories, specifically?”

 

Gaster draws in a deep breath, bracing himself as if for expected rejection. “I think my girl might have been on to something. The presence of the barrier and the fluidity of time in the Underground are intrinsically tied. To understand and manipulate one might be the key to controlling the other. If we gain control over the timelines, not only do we protect ourselves against someone dangerous potentially inheriting the power to reset, we also may have a chance to destroy the barrier once and for all before another human has to die, so long as Asgore promises peace once we reach the surface, of course.”

Sans can’t help it, he doubles over in laughter, ignoring the affronted look Gaster gives him. “You want to use potentially unstable magic we know almost nothing about to try and take down what’s basically a bubble forcefield we, again, know almost nothing about? That’s possibly the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. And what? You think I’m some magical answer? I’m a kid with a freaky glitch in their system and am practically made of unstable magic myself. Not a great combo.”

 

“You have unique abilities I’ve never seen before that could prove useful, you are the only monster to remember between timelines, you have the motivation to stop Asgore’s plan no one else will, and, above all, you’re clever,” Gaster says firmly. “Possibly the cleverest monster your age I’ve ever met, and I’ve always preferred working with the intelligent, not matter how young, over the mediocre. You’d hardly be the first around your age to work in the labs.” He sighs. “You’re either in or you’re out, kid, and if it’s the latter I’ll walk away now, but—“

 

“Asgore’s guards killed my sister,” Sans snarls, cutting off Gaster. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re completely bonkers, and agreeing to this will probably get us both blown up messing around with stuff we shouldn’t even know about one day, but…well…”

 

Almost unconsciously, he reaches up and wraps his hand around the memory pendant underneath his sweater, the memory of the promise he couldn’t keep clawing its way to the forefront of his mind.

 

He failed her.

 

That doesn’t mean he has to fail now, if there really is a way to break the barrier.

 

To free Papyrus, Grillby, everyone.

 

To stop it happening again.

 

Despite everything, he wants to trust Gaster. He wants to trust this.

 

“This crazy idea of yours? I’m listening. Intently.”

 

He looks up at Gaster resolutely, and the other monster grins sharply, eyes gleaming.

 

“Excellent.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.
> 
> This was...something.
> 
> I'm so sorry the update took so long, I had finals and final papers due for like a week and a half, and I had a couple bad spells in between, and Sakura Con was last weekend so I was basically out of commission for those three days as well (for anyone who went, I was the Frisk wearing the Save and Reset flower crown. I'm actually going to be at Emerald City Comic Con next weekend too, so if you're going and want to say hi ((please do!)), [here's how to find me](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/141587040842/ill-be-at-con-pls-come-talk-to-me-im-lonely).)
> 
> I wasn't exactly satisfied with how parts of this chapter turned out, but I felt it was already getting too long for just one extended conversation, so left it as is. As you can probably tell, I also have a lot of love for Bravery, Kindness, and Perseverance, even if they're not exactly really in this story. (I currently don't have any solid refs for them yet, but I'm working on it.)
> 
> ALSO, because there was a lot of information in this chapter, lemme do a quick breakdown of the history of humans in the Undergound:  
> -Chara falls in 201x, and dies later that year, along with Asriel. It's unestablished how old they were when they died.  
> -Bravery falls a few years after that. Toriel has yet to properly leave Asgore, but his death is the sealing point of her self-imposed exile. He's around seven or eight, the youngest of the fallen humans, and dies in Snowdin after sneaking out to get Toriel a birthday cake.  
> -Kindness falls a couple decades after Bravery, stays with Toriel for some undetermined amount of time, leaves for unknown reasons, and makes it into Hotland before being captured. He refuses to fight Asgore. He is around fourteen.  
> -Perseverance falls next, some time after Kindness. She leaves Toriel and eventually ends up hiding in Gaster's lab where he finds her, attempting to find some way to understand the nature of the timelines. She stays with him a few months, and is eventually killed in a lab fire after Asgore and his guards confront them. She is around thirteen. Gaster's relationship with her is very close, and he considers her something like a surrogate daughter or younger sibling (mostly refers to her as 'my girl'/'my little girl' in the story, rather than define her exact relationship to him.)  
> -Integrity jumps into the Underground several decades later. She is twelve. The events of Act 1 happen as they do, and she dies on the 27th timeline run. Sans is devastated by her death, and it leads to him willing to hear out Gaster's plan. Integity and Sans viewed each other as siblings and the best of friends. (Sans will intermittently refer to her as 'the human', 'my human', 'my friend' and most commonly 'my sister' from now on.)  
> -Frisk, Patience, and Justice have not fallen yet.
> 
> Got all that? I hope so, because I sure as hell don't and I wrote it.
> 
> Anyways, since I'm on break, I'm going to try and push out another update by the end of this week.
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	11. Introspection At The River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaster, as Sans quickly realizes, has absolutely no chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look who finally updated! 
> 
> I know this is a really short update length for me, especially given the waiting period involved, but I've had a lot of stuff going on, and long story short I've just been really busy. Hopefully there won't be another gap between updates this large, but if there is, I ask for your patience. 
> 
> Also! I have recieved fanart!
> 
> Huge thanks to both Nyonax for [this amazing piece of Integrity and Sans](http://nyonax.tumblr.com/post/143438870699/sans-and-integrity-from-not-as-simple-as-a-happy), and to Celestialfeathers for [this lovely piece of Integrity](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/142559762967/ok-so-today-while-at-eccc-i-met-the-wonderful) they actually gifted me in person at Emerald City ComicCon! I really adore getting fanart (I tend to shriek when I first see it), so you both made my day with those!

Gaster, as Sans quickly realizes, has absolutely no chill, as the other monster seems to take their new semi-understanding with one another as an agreement to come with him to the labs to get acquainted with everything post-haste—and, of course, by that Gaster appears to mean right now, immediately.

 

And yeah, okay, admittedly a large part of Sans is really, really curious, and this is the most alive he’s felt ever since…everything, but at the same time he’s exhausted and this has possibly been the most emotionally draining conversation he’s had since his talk with Grillby right after the human’s death. Liberating, sure, don’t get him wrong, he’s ridiculously thankful there’s finally someone who understands what’s happened to him, but draining all the same.

 

…He suspects the nightmares tonight will involve fire. A _lot_ of fire.

 

So despite Gaster’s protests, Sans convinces him to at least let him get some sleep, somewhat forcefully ejecting the other from the cavern area before fleeing back to his home for what feels like a long overdue collapse. Thankfully, Papyrus has somehow managed to stay asleep even now, despite the previous magic explosions and all the yelling. Sans is just mentally marking down this surprising fact as he flops onto his bed and tries to settle his whirling mind, when it hits him…rather like a brick to the face.

 

_Papyrus._

 

Shit.

 

He’d been struggling as it was to hold up to his promise to stop avoiding his brother and dumping him with other people, and now he’s just agreed to something like a job, or at least a commitment of sorts, that definitely does not factor in tag-along baby bones. He certainly can’t just go back to leaving Papyrus with Gerson everyday. That was never supposed to be a daily arrangement, regardless of how little Gerson seems to mind, and his brother certainly won’t be able to understand the difference between Sans going back to ditching his brother at every opportunity, and him finding a new mode of work that Papyrus can’t come with him to. After all, aside from the occasionally more complicated or potentially hazardous jobs Sans has done for the Temmies, Papyrus has almost always been able to come with Sans on his tasks or bouts of scavenging.

 

…And that is another thing altogether.

 

Even before all this, Sans has always struggled to keep up with the number of things the Temmies want done. It was an unfortunate side effect of being their apparent favorite…well, they called him a trade assistant, but he's pretty sure the more accurate term is slave.

 

Maybe they’ve been temporarily somewhat willing to look the other way if his work has been slower the last few weeks, but he is perfectly aware that if that becomes a regular occurrence, there will be…issues.

 

…He really did not think this through.

 

Then again, how much did Gaster? Sans is pretty sure it isn’t exactly normal for an assumedly prestigious Royal Scientist to obsessively hunt down a kid who simply has similar feelings about Asgore’s….policies. After all, Sans has made himself pretty damn hard to find, and it definitely sounded like Gaster has spent the whole month working to track him down.

 

Sans understands little to nothing about how the human’s ability to re-write time worked. After all, she herself had barely understood how she was even able to manipulate the ability, and he only remembers it occurring, nothing more. Surely, what little he can provide about it isn’t worth _that_ much effort.

 

Still…Gaster seems to think, for whatever reason, that he is…clever. Sans isn’t sure how him screwing with a few of Gaster’s cameras on orders from the Tems suddenly makes him so usefully intelligent, let alone to the point of being able to assist with what is no doubt ridiculously complicated work, the kind of work most people would do years of training for before even setting foot in a lab like Gaster’s, but apparently the other monster seems to consider Sans's ability to fuck up his tech proof enough.

 

Ah well, he's always been good enough at math, he supposes. Numbers just sort of…click for him. Sans isn’t sure if it is a natural talent or a side-effect of some learning he got in his old life before Waterfall, but…it's there at least. Perhaps that will be enough to help him keep up with whatever Gaster throws at him.

 

Besides, surely the scientist doesn’t expect Sans to actually be able to instantaneously comprehend and help with his work.

 

…Right?

 

Grumbling, Sans rolls over from the position he’d collapsed onto his bed in and into something more comfortable, reaching out and snagging the human’s sweater with one hand before dragging it to him and burying his face in the musty fabric that still smells a little like her.

 

He has to do this, for her.

 

And after all…the best thing that had ever come into his life had happened all due to a bunch of also arguably crazy decisions as spontaneous as the one he’d just made. Perhaps that track record would hold up.

 

And with that vaguely hopeful thought in mind, Sans closes his eyes, and sleeps.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The following morning is just as hectic as Sans had originally predicted.

 

Waking up on time—if there even was a qualifier for _on time_ given his only instructions to Gaster had been a vague "tomorrow"—isn’t exactly a problem. He’s a really light sleeper, and has always had a good internal clock regardless, very rarely sleeping for much more than he intends. But the actual act of dragging himself out of bed is a struggle, as it has frequently become lately. Ever since…everything, no matter how much he sleeps, he always feels like it’s never enough. Of course, waking up three or four times a night sobbing or silently screaming probably doesn’t help that issue.

 

Regardless, struggle out of bed Sans does, and after stumbling into clothes—the same ones he wore yesterday, but given he’s a skeleton it’s not like it matters, and it feels so wrong most days to put on anything but the striped sweater he wore throughout the majority of the timelines)—he sets about waking Papyrus.

 

Ironically enough, despite what their personalities might imply, Sans would hesitantly label himself as the morning person between the two of them. While he certainly doesn’t _enjoy_ getting up early, he’s perfectly capable of it— one has to be if they want to work for, and not annoy, the Tems. Papyrus, on the other hand…when Papyrus wants to get up on his own, he’s _up,_ even if it’s at three am. There’s no getting him back to sleep once he’s decided he’s awake.

 

Trying to wake him up when he doesn’t want to, though, is impossible.

 

Like right now.

 

“Paps…” He groans quietly for what must be the eighth time, flopping forward and letting his face land against the pile of pillows next to his brother’s curled up form. “Please. Please get up.” The only response he gets is a muffled whine as Papyrus digs himself further into his pile of pillows and blankets with half-asleep purpose. Sighing, Sans mentally fortifies himself for what comes next, then reaches for a singular ankle poking out of the mess of blankets, and yanks. His brother emerges from the pillow nest with a loud shriek that remind Sans of a disgruntled cat, and he quickly gets to his feet, still holding his brother by his ankle outwards over the mattress so that Papyrus swings in the air above his bed, screeching and flailing all the while.

 

“You awake now?” Sans asks calmly, masking his slight amusement at his brother’s antics. Once Papyrus nods his head, Sans lets him drop back onto the mattress, grabbing the back of his brother’s shirt the second he goes to dive back into his heap of pillows.

 

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Time to get up, kiddo.”

 

“It’s too early.” Papyrus whines, hanging limply from Sans’s grip, and he snorts.

 

“It’s not that early. Now, you can either get up and get dressed yourself, or I can dress you, but either way you need to put on your clothes, so pick.”

 

Grumbling, Papyrus tugs his shirt out of Sans’s hold and stumbles over to the box of his clothes, rummaging around. Content his brother isn’t going to crawl back in bed the minute he turns his back, Sans sets to work finding something in their crate of food, rummaging around before settling on a small loaf of bread. Ripping it in half, he turns around and hands one of the pieces to Papyrus, now dressed and standing expectantly behind him.

 

Looking down at the bread, Papyrus bites off a mouthful and frowns. “Why do we never have crab apples anymore?”

 

Sans shrugs. “We just don’t,” he mumbles, quickly devouring his own bread in the hopes of getting out the door sooner and hopefully avoiding any more conversation on this topic.

 

Papyrus glares down at the last of his bread. “But, _why_?”

 

Because she didn’t like them.

 

Because he got used to not eating them.

 

Because they just taste like saltwater now, just as she described.

 

“Just…because," he says, avoiding his brother’s confused gaze. Papyrus huffs in annoyance, but thankfully lets it go.

 

Wiping the leftover crumbs clinging to his fingerbones on his pants, Sans waits until his brother has finished eating before hesitantly beginning what he knows will be the painfully awkward part of this conversation. “Hey, Paps?”

 

“Mhm?” Papyrus mumbles around his last mouthful of bread.

 

“So…something’s…come up, and you might need to…” He sighs. “You might need to go with Gerson for the day? Potentially, uh, more than one day. I haven’t figured out a permanent solution yet.”

 

“What?!” Sans winces at the betrayed look Papyrus gives him. “But you said I could stay with you all week! You said you didn’t have any jobs that I couldn’t come on!”

 

“Yeah…I did, didn’t I?” Sans scratches the back of his skull, slumping as he tries to think of a way to make his brother understand. “But this isn’t exactly, uh…a job? Not like the regular—“

 

“So you’re just dumping me with Gerson so you can go be alone again?!”

 

 _“No!”_ He shouts back, startling them both slightly with his volume. Groaning tiredly, he bends down, trying to meet his brother’s eyes. “Paps. Paps, look at me.” Quietly, he waits until Papyrus looks at him hesitantly, eye sockets brimming with tears, and then carefully reaches up and wipes them away. “No. I’m not going to go back to doing that. I promised, didn’t I? I’m just…” He pauses, thinking about how to phrase it. “I do have a job, a job that’s looking to be a long work period one, but it’s…not with the Tems. It’s a job for someone else.”

 

“So, like…” Papyrus frowns. “You’re doing a job for a new boss?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, relief flooding through him. “Yeah, exactly. A new boss, a new job, and I haven’t asked this new boss if I can bring you along yet. So until I check if it's ok, it’s only a possibility,  _not_ a certainty. You may need to spend some days with Gerson, alright?” Papyrus visibly hesitates, and Sans sighs. “Please, Paps. This is really important.”

 

Shakily, Papyrus nods, and Sans grins, standing up and fixing his brothers scarf before patting his skull. “Good kid. C’mon, we’re running late.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

They find Gaster out in the main cavern, not five minutes walk from their cave, squatting among the rocks and filling several small flasks with water from one of the shallower rivers that lazily trickles through the lower pools. Sans notices him first, and as he slows he feels Papyrus nervously reach out from behind him and grab onto the sleeve of his coat. Clearing his throat, Sans does his equivalent of raising an eyebrow when Gaster startles and jumps up to a standing position at the noise, looking way too cheerful for somebody out taking what Sans can only guess are water samples from a river in the middle of a largely deserted part of the Underground, especially this relatively early in the morning.

 

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you’ve just been hanging around here all morning waiting.”

 

Gaster coughs, flushing slightly in embarrassment. “No, of course not. Rose wanted some water samples done from this part of Waterfall and since I was coming here anyways, I offered. I haven’t been here _that_ long.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sans says skeptically. “Sure.”

 

“Oh, do shut up,” Gaster says primly, pocketing the flasks of water. “Are you coming or not?”

 

Sans rolls his eyes. “Course. I said I would, didn’t I? Agreed to this whole mess.” He goes to step forward and feels the grip on his sleeve tighten, quickly reminding him of his brother’s presence behind him. “…Though, uh, I’ve got to drop Paps off with Gerson for the day, first.”

 

Gaster blinks, and then looks slightly to Sans’s left as if only noticing the smaller form half-hiding behind him for the first time. “Oh.” He leans down, peering curiously, and Sans feels Papyrus shrink closer to his side. “And who are you?”

 

“Papyrus,” his brother mumbles out before hiding part of his face in Sans’s coat, keeping one eye socket off the fabric and trained carefully on Gaster.

 

“Ah.” Gaster grins. “You must be Sans’s brother then, yes?”

 

Papyrus nods, and then hesitantly asks, “You’re Sans’s new boss?”

 

“Boss?” Gaster blinks in confusion and Sans winces slightly but decides now is not an appropriate time to discuss with Gaster the intricacies of trying to explain this situation to a little kid. “Well, I suppose that’s one way of looking at it? I think it’s more like…your brother will be working with and helping me, and I’ll probably end up also teaching him some things along the way. Tutoring is what I think Rose put on the forms when Alphys joined…or maybe mentorship? Who knows, it’s all bullshit anyways.”

 

“…Right,” Sans says after a moment, fighting back the urge to ask about who Alphys is and why she would need Gaster as a _'tutor'_  He supposes he’ll find out soon enough, anyhow. “Anyways, I do still need to drop Papyrus off before we go, so…”

 

Gaster snorts, waving a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. He can just come to the lab with us. Certainly better than him stuck with some random monster, and Wind loves children. She can keep an eye on him, it’s not like she’s doing much more than just paperwork most of the day regardless, it’ll be good for her.”

 

Sans hesitates. “But…” He really doesn’t know if Papyrus in a lab, where there are hazardous and potentially explosive experiments set up, even if he does have someone to keep an eye on him, is a good idea.

 

“No buts, it’ll be fine,” Gaster says. “Besides, I don’t think either of us expect this to be a one time, or several day, or even several _week_ thing. Papyrus can’t spend days upon days without end with a babysitter, especially Gerson of all people.” Gaster rolls his eyes, and Sans realizes with a start that given Gaster’s implied age, since he mentioned living through the war, Gaster and Gerson almost definitely would have known each other at some point, especially if they were both once close to Asgore.

 

“Alright, let’s try your idea then,” Sans says after a moment of consideration. Gaster’s right, he really doesn’t want Papyrus stuck with Gerson everyday, and if this idea of bringing Paps into the labs doesn’t work, he can always seek out another option later on. For now, it’s at least worth trying. He’d certainly feel better having his brother closer if he’s going to be all the way away in the Capital.

 

“Excellent,” Gaster says, clapping his hands together. “Come on then, we’ve got work to do and I’m sure there’ll be some stupid paperwork Rose will want done before everything, so…” He waves a hand and starts walking, Sans and Papyrus following behind.

 

“I don’t like his face,” Papyrus murmurs from his side, “It’s weird.”

 

Gaster looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “ _Your_ face is weird.”

 

Papyrus goes to respond and Sans puts a hand over his mouth with a sigh. “Really? You’re going to pick the most childish fight possible with my baby brother?”

 

Gaster sticks his tongue out at him, pouting defiantly, and Sans snorts. “You really are kind of a pretentious ass, you know.”

 

“And you, kid,” Gaster says cheerfully, “are a grumpy little fucker.”

 

Snickering, Sans speeds up his walk, feeling Papyrus follow next to him less hesitantly than before, as he moves to catch up with Gaster.

 

 

xxx

 

 

When they get to the river dock, the Riverperson is already waiting quietly. The thin, narrow boat floating serenely on the water that rushes past it, held in place only by what Sans can assume is magic.

 

He thinks of the last time he stood on this bank, with the human as they looked out over the river together in a rare moment of peace outside of their cave home, and then deliberately pushes the thought out of his mind.

 

Not the time.

 

“Hey River!” Gaster says as they scramble aboard, Sans carefully lifting his brother over the gap between the boat and the dock before jumping on himself. “What’s up?”

 

The Riverperson hums quietly as the boat pulls away from the dock and takes off. “The waters are looking wild today.”

 

“Good to know.” Gaster’s surprisingly serious, albeit upbeat, tone catches Sans’s attention, and he looks at Gaster in curiosity before muttering to him quietly.

 

“Everyone’s always told me not to listen to a word the Riverperson says. That they live to be cryptic and everything they say is gibberish anyways.”

 

Gaster glances down at him and smirks, eyes lighting up. “They’d be wrong. Old River’s been around for an eternity—they’re much older than even Asgore or Gerson. They’ve seen everything under the sun and know what’s to come like they’re reading fate from the stars themselves. When they speak to you, listen, kid. It might just save your life. Has certainly saved mine in the past.”

 

Gulping, Sans nods, eye sockets flickering up to the hooded form of the Riverperson in silent curiosity. He’d never heard someone say something like that about the Riverperson, but Gaster seemed pretty confident in what he just said, despite clearly being someone who believed in logic and not fate.

 

Then again, magic itself is illogical, and he has heard stories thrown around in the diner occasionally of the old monsters of legend who could peer into the future. Though how that would work in conjunction with the humans’ timeline manipulation abilities he has no idea.

 

With a bump that startles him from his thoughts, the boat touches down on the landing dock, and they all carefully climb out.

 

“Any words of wisdom before we go, River?” Gaster asks, voice casual but eyes trained on the hooded figure.

 

 

“…Would recommend removing the rum.” The Riverperson says after a pause, hood swiveling down to look at the water in what seems to Sans to be a considering fashion.

 

“Noted. Anything else?”

 

A quiet hum of contemplation, and then. “The question is not why crab apples taste of salty water, but how one knows what salty water tastes like.”

 

Next to Gaster, Sans jolts, glancing up at the Riverperson in shock.

 

Was that…meant for him? It must have been, right?

 

He feels a shudder run down his spine. Perhaps Gaster hadn’t been wrong about the Riverperson after all. Though what the Riverperson meant exactly by their words, he has no idea.

 

Still, there is no way that was a coincidence, not when Papyrus had just asked about the fruit that same morning.

 

“Thank you,” Gaster says, nodding in what Sans assumes is respect to the Riverperson before turning and heading up the landing dock. “Let’s get going, you two. Still aren’t even at the lab yet.” Sans feels Papyrus let go of the hold on his coat and run after Gaster, having seemed to warm up to him on the walk over as Gaster matched all of his childish insults and prods with one of his own, and yet Sans can’t bring himself to move. Eye sockets focused on the Riverperson as they look up, he is left staring at the dark, shadowed place where their hood ends. Finally pulling his gaze away, Sans goes to turn and follow Gaster and Papyrus up the path.

 

“Seven years.”

 

He flinches, turning back around the second the words leave the Riverperson’s mouth.

 

“What?”

 

The Riverperson hums, their boat slowly floating back out to the center of the river and away.

 

“Seven years. Use them wisely, Riverborn.”

 

Watching their receding figure move down the river, Sans shivers, and then turns and runs up the path.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so...
> 
> This update was never supposed to take this long, but I switched into new classes and shit came up and the bottom line is I've been reallyyyy busy. I ended up splitting the planned chapter into two (hence why this is so short) because I wasn't sure if I'd have time to finish the rest of the chapter until next weekend (though I do plan on having the next update finished by the end of next weekend hopefully). 
> 
> I also just want to say thank you real quick for all the lovely comments I've been getting on the latest chapters, reading them really helps give me the motivation to work on new chapters, so... thank you! :)
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed. I love writing Gaster he's such a fucking dweeb.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, feel free to (and by that I mean please do) come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	12. Seriously Gaster, Do Your Fucking Paperwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um,” Sans says, tugging on Gaster’s coat to get his attention. “Manga?” 
> 
> “We’ll get to that later.” Gaster waves a hand dismissively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the new chapter! I ended up splitting the planned chapter in two, since it's been quite a while since I updated, but I'm aiming to have the second half of this hopefully out by the end of this coming weekend. 
> 
> Also! Thank you again to CelestialFeathers for even more gorgeous fanart, which y'all can check out right [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/144027544422/sorry-youve-had-a-rough-week-uh-to-make-it)!

 As he follows Gaster through the bustling streets of the Capital, keeping his eyes trained on the tall monster in front of him as not to get lost in the crowd, it quickly becomes apparent to Sans that he does not, in fact, have any idea where Gaster’s lab is, or where they are going.

 

Tugging Papyrus’s hand to move him along, Sans jogs to regain his position next to Gaster’s side, pausing to scoop Papyrus up when he whines in discontent. As his little brother clings to him and wraps his arms around his neck, Sans glances up at Gaster and voices his thoughts.

 

“So where exactly are we going? I’ve been here a couple times and haven’t ever seen any buildings that look like labs around.”

 

Gaster snorts and waves a hand idly. “No, of course not. There’s enough crowding issues in this damn place without us trying to fit in an appropriately sized lab. We have to be creative about our spacing when using up large areas that need to be self-contained like that. There’s the connected auxiliary lab in Hotland, of course, but that’s really only designed for a small team of one or two people, so aside from Gamma and Ficus outsourcing some work there occasionally when they want quiet, it’s mostly used for storage.”

 

“Okay?” Sans glances around them. “So…where then?”

 

Gaster only grins and keeps walking, and Sans sighs, following and looking around for clues as to where the lab would be, dismissing every building he sees almost instantly. Eyes falling to the ground below them, he pauses in consideration. Hotland is a mass of different levels of structures, and while the Capital remains largely on one surface, there are parts of the city that house warehouses and certain businesses on a sort of basement level below the city proper.

 

“Down?” he asks curiously, gesturing to the pavement below their feet.

 

Gaster’s grin widens, and Sans knows he’s guessed correctly. “Precisely. Not here, of course, it is in a different part of the Capital. But yes, below the main surface.” Gaster glances up at the street before them and makes a left turn, Sans hurrying behind him. “Come on, nearly there now.”

 

Sans snorts. “Walk any further and we’ll end up at the—“ He freezes, words dying, as they turn the corner and suddenly looming before them is what is clearly an entrance to the castle.

 

Of course. Where else would the Royal Scientist work? God, how could he have been so _stupid?_

He take a step back, pulling Papyrus, who has thankfully fallen asleep, closer to him, vaguely noting the increased rate of his breathing as he quickly slips in hyperventilation, panic taking over.

 

“Sans?” Gaster has stopped, and is staring down at him with a confused expression.

 

“I can’t,” he whispers, shaking his head rapidly. “I-I _can’t_. I can’t go back there, they’ll kill me.”

 

Gaster’s eyes widen, glancing up at the castle before turning back and carefully kneeling down in front of him, reaching out a hand, likely to comfort him, that Sans flinches away from on instinct. Undeterred, Gaster gently rests his hand on his shoulder. “Sans. Sans, look at me.” Hesitantly, Sans forces himself to meet Gaster’s eyes, and the other monster offers him a cautious smile. “No one is going to hurt you. The labs are built onto the bottom of the castle, over a dozen floors away from Asgore, and are completely sealed off with their own elevator down that needs a keycard to access. No one gets in without the express permission of myself or one of my assistants, who know not to let Asgore or any guards in without calling me first. Asgore will never get anywhere near you.”

 

“P-promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Slowly, Sans feels his breathing start to settle, and nods hesitantly. Standing up, Gaster turns and pushes open the door to the castle, Sans following behind cautiously. Once inside, he breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the empty hall.

 

“Employee entrance,” Gaster says cheerfully. “The main gates are round the south entrance to the castle. This is just a small way in for people who work here, and as such, the guards don’t bother guarding it. Only my assistants and some cleaning staff really use it, anyways.”

 

Gesturing to him, Gaster leads Sans down the hall to a small elevator with a pad on the wall next to it. Pulling an ID card out of his pocket, Gaster swipes it on the pad and types in a code before glancing down at Sans. “The code for all the doors is two-six-nine-seven, and I’ll see that Wind gets you a keycard for the future.”

 

The doors slide open, and they both step in before the doors shut and a quiet hum echoes through the small room as the elevator descends. “You weren’t kidding about the lab-specific elevator thing, then.”

 

“Of course not,” Gaster says quietly. “When the labs were built they were designed to be their own independent enclosure. They were simply located underneath the castle as a space saver. The extension in Hotland is much newer and the only section to be built partially on a main level of the Underground, and even then the majority of that is still underneath any level accessible to the public. We didn’t always have all the…” He glances at his keycard before slipping it into his coat pocket. “ Security measures, as such. But after the…incident, I made a point of making sure no one was getting in without my express approval, and started being more selective about my staff. I always thought the large teams the previous Royal Scientist kept that I continued when I first inherited the position were excessive, anyways.”

 

“So who exactly _is_ on your staff, then?” Sans asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

“Well,” Gaster quirks a grin as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. “I imagine you’ll be meeting them all soon enough.” With that, he sweeps down the hall dramatically, and, rolling his eyes, Sans follows.

 

Sans isn’t sure what he’s expecting when Gaster opens the door at the end of the hall—some sort of mad scientist’s lab, complete with shiny metallic tools and bubbling beakers, maybe—but whatever he was vaguely envisaging in his subconscious, it’s definitely not a small, brightly painted room with overflowing filing cabinets and stuffed bookshelves lining the walls.

 

His first thought is that, despite the mess, it’s actually quite friendly looking.

 

It’s then that he notices they are not the only ones in the room. In the corner, sitting at a large desk with her feet propped up on it as she leans back in a desk chair and eats noodles out of a cup while she watches something intently on a small, boxy television propped on the corner of the desk, is a female monster with a mess of frizzy aqua hair, pulled up in a sloppy bun, with two long, pointed, almost dog-like ears sticking out between the curls, and stark white skin. More noticeable is the large white wings half-folded casually behind her back, which stand out in sharp contrast to her surprisingly casual clothing, and long, thin tail curled casually around the base of her chair. She evidently hasn’t noticed them come in, too absorbed in whatever is on the TV, but the moment Gaster strides nonchalantly into the center of the room, she is up in a flash and in front of him, arms out to block him from moving forward.

 

“Oi, watch it! I’ve been working on that puzzle all morning, I’m not having you walk all over this one as well just because you’re too lazy to look where you’re going, you arse.”

 

Hesitantly peering around Gaster, Sans spots a half-finished jigsaw puzzle lying on the ground, the beginnings of a picture of what he thinks is supposed to be the ocean visible in the parts already put together.

 

Next to him, Gaster raises an eyebrow and gives the female monster a deadpan look. “I wasn’t going to step on it Wind, calm down.”

 

Oh. So this was the Wind Gaster had mentioned earlier.

 

Wind snorts, stepping back and leaning against the desk. “Yeah, yeah. You said that the last four times as well, right before you walked all over it. You’re a hazard to puzzles, Boss.” Gaze flickering down, her eyes widen and jump to Sans as if noticing him for the first time. “Who’s the kid? Er…kids.”

 

Sans hesitates, and feels Gaster lay a surprisingly comforting hand on his shoulder as he responds for him. “Sans, a new assistant, and his brother Papyrus. Circumstances make it difficult to have Papyrus somewhere else during the day, so he will be coming in at least most days as well. Sans, this is Wind. She doubles as security and the…secretary of sorts here.”

 

“More like professional experiment wrangler and the person you chuck your unfinished paperwork at,” Wind says with a hint of begrudging amusement. “An assistant though? He looks a little young, even by your standards. How old are you, Sans?”

 

“Uh.” Sans glances hesitantly at Gaster, who shrugs, and back at Wind. “Twelve?”

 

Might as well stick with a consistent answer at this point if everyone is suddenly going to start asking his age.

 

Wind blinks, and then looks at Gaster with disbelief. “…You can’t be serious.”

 

“What?”

 

“You can’t bring a _twelve-year-old_ in here! He’s _way_ too young!”

 

“Alphys wasn’t much older when she started working here,” Gaster says, unperturbed.

 

“Alphys was nearly fourteen when she started here, and had teachers to vouch for her ability, not to mention her emotional maturity.”

 

“I wasn’t aware there was such a difference between twelve and fourteen.” Gaster raises an eyebrow. “Regardless, I can assure you Sans has the necessary intelligence to be here, and he will be working directly with me, so I will have an eye on him at all times.”

 

“Oh yeah, that makes me feel _so_ much better.” Wind sighs, defeated, before looking over Sans with what can best be described as something akin to long-suffering resignation. “Did you at least do the necessary paperwork this time, or even _tell someone_ before you kidnapped _another_ kid to be a _‘lab assistant’_?”

  
Gaster grins cheerfully. “Nope, but it wasn’t necessary this time, luckily enough.”

 

“What the hell does _‘wasn’t necessary’_ mean?”

 

“It wasn’t necessary,” Gaster says with another shrug.

 

“Oh, for fucks sake.” Wind pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ok, Sans, I can’t believe I have to ask this, but do your parents even know you’re here?”

 

Sans balks, pulling Papyrus closer and glancing up at Gaster desperately. “Er…”

 

God, _of course_ someone would ask him that. Why hadn’t he prepared some kind of rehearsed lie for this?

 

Think. He has to think.

 

_“Just because I don’t like to lie doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”_

 

He blinks, and the room is lost to him.

 

_“Y’know with the guard…did you have to lie like that a lot, back on the surface?”_

_“Sometimes? Adults are…dumb,” the human says conversationally. The two of them are perched on a rock near the cave, the human playing with the small rubber ball she’d taken to tossing around as Sans fiddles quietly with her phone. “They want to pretend everything is fine and only see what they **want** to see. They’ll lie to each other all the time, and pretend they don’t know others are doing the same. For kids like us, especially, they expect our honesty, and they count on us to be too stupid to fool them. That’s what makes it easy. Adults want to be right, and so as long as they hear what they want to, they won’t question it." She pauses, looking down at him and shrugging. “I don’t like it. I hate when people lie, but when it comes down to it, better a lie than you, or me, or both of us being punished for honesty. As long as you’re_ _**honestly** lying for the good of things or to protect yourself from harm…it’s different, not as bad, right?” Her voice, despite the conviction in her words, is hesitant and unsure, and Sans glances up and offers her a reassuring smile._

_“Of course,” he says. “It’s like, uh…honesty of character? What’s the word…integrity? Like…” He idly waves a hand. “Strong moral upstanding, or something. You know the dividing line, and you follow it.”_

_The human grins slightly. “Integrity, huh? I dunno about that. I’m still trying to justify lying here.”_

_Sans snorts. “A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially if it keeps you from getting hurt.”_

_“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”_

 

“Sans?” It’s not the human’s voice, but Wind’s that speaks to him now, demanding an answer, and once again Sans finds himself.

 

“Sorry, uh, spaced out for a moment,” he says quickly. “Yeah, my parents know I’m here. Or…that we’re here.” He shifts Papyrus slightly in his arms.

 

Wind watches him skeptically. “You sure?”

 

Sans nods, feigning wide-eyed surprise. “Yeah, definitely. Gaster spoke to ‘em and everything. They’re fine with it. They, uh, both work anyways, so this works out better for them.”

 

Wind frowns. “And your school?”

 

Gaster shifts almost nervously, and Sans wonders if this is the first time it’s even occurred to the other that Sans clearly has no caretaker and does not attend any type of school, or if he simply is worried about a chewing-out from Wind over whatever paperwork he was supposed to do.

 

…Oh. That probably would have been if Sans had been at a school. Needing paperwork for that would make sense.

 

“I’m…homeschooled,” he says, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s, um, why Gaster said the paperwork wasn’t necessary. The only people he needed to check with were my parents.”

 

“Homeschooled, with both your parents at work? And what about your brother?”

 

Sans shrugs. “I’m pretty good at teaching myself from a book, my parents trust me to get my work done. And, uh, I watch Papyrus during the day too, it’s not hard.”

 

“Lucky for you, Wind,” Gaster says cheerfully, “since watching Papyrus will be your job whenever Sans is here.”

 

 _“What?”_ Wind’s voice is incredulous. “I’ve got work! How the hell do you expect me to watch him all day?”

 

“Well,” Gaster says amiably, glancing down at the puzzle on the floor next to them, “you’ve managed to find time in the day to start a new puzzle, and uh,” he takes a step forward and leans over the edge of Wind’s desk, ignoring her grumbling protests, to peer at the TV screen, “watch thi—wait.” Gaster’s face scrunches up in disgust and he pointedly takes a large step back and away from the desk as he straightens up. “Really, Wind? _Really?”_

“Just because _you_ don’t like it…” Wind mutters petulantly.

 

“Season two completely diverges from the manga! Not to mention the plot holes as wide as the fucking—“

 

“Um,” Sans says, tugging on Gaster’s coat to get his attention. “Manga?”

 

“We’ll get to that later.” Gaster waves a hand dismissively.

 

“Yeah, no.” Wind snorts. “I’m as much for manga education as the next person, but if you’re going to steal _another_ kid for an assistant, you’re at least going to teach him useful stuff. Heaven knows all the trash you got Alphys into.” Looking down at Sans one last time, as if scanning him for errors, Wind lets out a resigned sigh and nods her head. “Alright then, Boss…your lab and all. Just know Rose is going to kill you, and I am not going to try to stop her. I value keeping my tail attached to my body, not to mention my half of the bed. I adore Rose, but she sure knows how to pick uncomfortable sofas for sleeping on.” Standing up, Wind’s wings flutter as if stretching, and she holds out her hands. “Give me the kid, then. Let’s just hope he likes puzzles.”

 

Sans blinks, glancing down at Papyrus, who is still fast asleep in his arms. “Uh. Right. Lemme just…” Gently, he nudges Papyrus’s head where it’s resting on his shoulder. “Paps. Paps, wake up.” Papyrus grumbles, burying his head in the fabric of Sans’s coat, and he sighs. “Papyrus!”

 

Papyrus startles, sitting up and looking at him blearily. “I’m…I’m awake…what…” His eyes open properly, looking around the room in confusion. “Where are we?”

 

“Gaster’s lab,” Sans says quietly. “Y’know, the new place I’ll be working?” Papyrus frowns in sleepy confusion, and then nods slowly. “Ok, so…” Shifting Papyrus to one of his arms so that he’s facing Wind, he gestures to her. “This is Wind, she’ll be watching you when we’re here, alright?”

 

Wind bends down, waving to Papyrus with a friendly smile. “Hello! Papyrus, right? I’m Wind, I work for Doctor Gaster.”

 

“H-Hi.” Papyrus’s voice is cautious, and he shies back into Sans’s chest.

 

“I was just working on a puzzle. You could help me if you like. Do you like puzzles?”

 

“Um.” Papyrus glances hesitantly at Sans. “I did a puzzle when I was at Miss Ignis’s house once? It was nice.”

 

“Well, I have plenty of puzzles here for you to do if you want! Want me to help you pick out an easy one with a pretty animal picture on it?”

 

Papyrus nods, holding his arms out, and Sans blinks in surprise as Wind leans down and picks his brother up from his grip. While Papyrus is pretty friendly, it normally takes him a little longer to warm up to new adults enough to let them pick him up. Perhaps Wind really does know what she's doing.

 

“Alright then,” Wind says cheerfully, settling Papyrus on her hip. “We’ll get to those puzzles, and as for you two…” She raises an eyebrow. “You have work, yes?”

 

Gaster grins. “You’re a blessing, Wind. Come on, Sans, things to do, experiments to run, potentially angry Roses to avoid.” Striding out the room right on top of the half-finished puzzle, Gaster disappears through the door, and Sans, looking down once at the now shoeprint-marred puzzle, offers Wind an awkward, apologetic smile before chasing after the scientist.

 

The room on the other side of the door is much more what Sans had in mind, and yet not. Wide, large, and open, with a high ceiling, benches and tables are crowded along the walls and randomly dotted around the room, papers upon papers, tools, half-built contraptions and vials of who-knows-what piled half-hazardly on top of them, excluding a few kept relatively clean, with what Sans can only assume are ongoing experiments resting on them. Books are everywhere, both what Sans would expect to be in a lab and strange, thin volumes with odd looking humans on the cover and titles in a language he doesn’t recognize, and tacked up on the walls are a mix of hastily-scrawled formulas and notes, and large posters similar looking to the illegible books. Perhaps they were the…what had Wind called it? Manga?

 

Judging by how Gaster had spoken of it, he obviously takes it quite seriously.

 

Looking to Gaster, Sans goes to ask him about it, only to have a hand firmly placed on his back that leads him quickly through the room. “Yes, yes, this is the lab. Well, part of it. All great stuff, I’ll be sure to show you around later, but right now we need to get to my section before—“

 

“WINGDINGS GASTER SERAPH.”

 

Gaster winces. “That.”

 

Looking to where the loud, angry shriek has come from, Sans is met with the sight of a pair of monsters rounding the corner from one of the other rooms attached to this one, at the head a cat monster currently marching towards Gaster with fire in her eyes. Wincing, Sans ducks behind Gaster as the monster comes to a stop in front of them, glaring up at Gaster.

 

Hesitantly, Sans peeks back around Gaster’s coat once he’s sure her attention isn’t on him, studying her curiously. He’s seen one or two cat-like monsters before, but there are none living in Snowdin or Waterfall as far as he knows. This one has reddish fur with a sprinkling of white patches across her rounded snout in a way that looks a lot like freckles, and brown hair that curves around her face and pointed ears, settled in a neat, straight-cut bob around her shoulders…and she is currently looking at Gaster like she’d take satisfaction in personally ripping his head off.

 

“Rose,” says Gaster calmly, and Sans startles, looking up once again at the cat monster. So _this_ is Rose.

 

“Where have you been?” Rose’s voice, despite sounding like it could be quite pleasant and soft in another situation, is tight with barely contained irritation.

 

“Out. Like I said I’d be.”

 

“You’ve been gone nearly _four hours_ on an _errand_. What the fuck could you have needed to get that would take so long?” Rose blinks, before glancing down at Sans as if just noticing him. “…Why is this kid here?”

 

“Sans, meet Rose. My second in command and the resident bioengineer here,” Gaster says lightly. “Rose, this is who I was picking up on my, er…errand. His name is Sans.”

 

“Oh no.” Rose’s eyes are wide. “No. No, no, no, _no_. Absolutely not. You are not bringing _another_ child into this lab! Alphys was one thing, but he’s, what? Ten?!”

 

“Twelve, actually. And too late. It’s a done deal.”

 

Rose makes a noise that embodies pure frustration, head falling into a raised hand and the other curling into a fist at her side. “You want a _twelve-year-old_ to work _here_ , under the shitty version of 'independent education’ we employed with Alphys to get her here.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No. I won’t allow it. End of story, done deal or not.”

 

“Well,” Gaster says amiably, “luckily enough, I’m still, miraculously, the one _technically_ in charge here, so you can’t really tell me what to do.”

 

“Excuse me?” Rose growls. “You may be the head scientist here, _Doctor_ , but while you’re off gallivanting around the Underground and secluding yourself in your private lab for days at a time, I’m the one actually running things here. So yes, I get a say in what happens.”

 

“You like running things! You get antsy when people try to tell you what to do! Besides, Sans will be working directly and primarily with _me_ , so no, you don’t get to veto this one, Rose.”

 

Rose sighs, rubbing at her temples as if to stave off a headache. “You know what? Fine! Fine. But the first time you accidentally nearly get him blown up, I’m sending him back to his school and you will be in _so much trouble_. Now please tell me you at least did the paperwork this time.”

 

Gaster waves a hand. “He’s homeschooled. Don’t need it.”

 

“Oh, for fucks sake. Yes, you still need it!” Rose grumbles. “Just because he’s not in a public school doesn’t mean there aren’t still forms to sign! You have to register him with the independent education program, there are liability waivers, there are terms of contract, there’s…” Rose trails off, mumbling what sounds like a curse word to herself. “Ok. Ok…here’s what’s going to happen— _we’re_ going to go do the paperwork because I know you won’t do it yourself, and meanwhile I’ll get Sans a proper tour of the labs. Heaven knows if I leave you to show him around he’ll have no clue where anything is. Now, where’s Alphys?” She looks around, frowning. “…Alphys? Alphys!”

 

“Coming!” Comes a high-pitched squeak as the other monster who had been with Rose when she had walked in, and had quickly vanished back around the corner as she began her tirade, trips into the room. “I’m coming! Sorry!”

 

Alphys skids to a halt next to Rose, and Sans looks her over curiously. She’s small, maybe a little less than half a head taller than him, and young looking—which would make sense, given that by what Wind had said she couldn’t be older than fifteen, or maybe sixteen. Still, the height between them is minimized by the way, upon spotting Sans, Alphys slumps in on herself as if trying to make herself smaller, looking at him through thick-rimmed, rounded glasses nervously.

 

Alphys has bucked teeth and yellow scales with a ridge of crowned spikes along the top of her head and a short tail curled nervously around one of her ankles. She’s wearing a pink striped shirt and a black and white polka-dotted skirt and a lab coat that’s clearly in need of a wash, and she’s observing him with scrutinizing eyes that betray the fact that she’s analyzing him just as closely as he is.

 

It’s like looking at someone watching a machine in the hopes of figuring out exactly how it works.

 

Sans decides he likes her instantly.

 

“Alphys, meet Sans, Gaster’s newest…assistant. Show him around, will you? Meanwhile,” Rose grabs Gaster’s arm and he winces, “Doctor Gaster and I have some forms to attend to, and a _long conversation_ to have.” With that, Rose walks away, dragging Gaster behind her like a mother with a misbehaving child, and Sans and Alphys are left alone.

 

Turning back to the other monster, who watches him hesitantly, Sans offers her an awkward smile and a small wave. “Uh. Hi.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a long wait on this chapter! School has been crazy lately, and I ended up getting sick this week. On the bright side, I only have a couple weeks of classes left, so the updating schedule should hopefully pick back up onto the old every one to two week basis after that. 
> 
> Hope this chap was still decent though. I really want to make sure each new character gets a proper introduction that properly gives a sense of their personality, and hopefully I've achieved that with Wind and Rose so far! (As well as Alphys, though she'll get a lot more screentime in the next chapter).
> 
> As always, feel free (and by that I mean please do) come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	13. Old Ghosts and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, I’m twelve. Yes, I look small for my age. No, I don’t know why Doctor Gaster chose to look over my age.”
> 
>  
> 
> Well, that part was technically a strong lie, but he felt “I’ve relived timelines and experienced death multiple times along with my human friend and adoptive sibling” wasn’t really appropriate first conversation material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! My most sincere apologies for taking so long with this update, things have been a bit crazy for me lately, but to substitute, here's a nice, long chapter!
> 
> Also! New Fanart!! A huge thank you to galactic-light for [their art of Integrity](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/145288538422/i-know-its-not-exactly-canon-but-this-is-my), torikabuto-drawings for their [gorgeous pic of Sans and Integrity](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/145320443017/torikabuto-drawings-i-found-and-read-this), mixed-ace for their [flawless art of Perseverance](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/146386106367/appearancesdoodles-gift-art-for-pastel-clark), and to mittspony for [their adorable art of Frisk, Integrity, and Perseverance](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/146779733072/mittspony-take-care-of-my-brother-okay-this)!

Sans’s first impression of Alphys, beyond his initial observations, is that she’s…well, quiet. She leads him from room to room, quickly muttering about the uses of each lab station or setup, with only slight occasional glances in his direction to betray the fact she’s even checking for his presence at all. Despite the slight shyness she’d first portrayed during their introduction, the odd contrast between this and the slightly flustered, but still clear-spoken girl he had witnessed in front of Gaster and Rose cannot be more visible, and Sans isn’t sure whether to attribute that to his simply being a new, unfamiliar presence, or something else in particular to do with him specifically.

 

Either way, it makes for a rather awkward tour.

 

Still, Alphys is factual and detailed in her account of what takes place where, if nothing else. He’s got a clear picture of which experiments are being run in each room, which rooms are designated for long-term experiment placement, for biological experiments, for chemical experiments, and so forth. It’s a large, spread-out array, and Sans can certainly see how a much larger team once could have filled these rooms. The fact that, from what little he’s gathered from Alphys’s mutterings, a team of only six people, including Wind and herself, manages everything is impressive.

 

Sans is just starting to wonder when he’ll meet the other two conspicuously absent members of Gaster’s staff when they enter a new lab room, Alphys pushing open the door and still speaking quickly about the experiments contained inside, only to draw short with a squeak at the sight of two confused looking monsters glancing up at them from a bench in the center of the room.

 

“Gamma! Ficus! I’m sorry, I forgot you two were in here today!”

 

Sans blinks, looking over the two now-named monsters curiously. The first is a slender plant monster, with fragile-looking hands and a delicate face, their entire skin a rough, brown, bark-like texture, and thin branches, with long blue-green leaves sprouting from them, growing from the top of their head like hair. This, he guesses, must be Ficus, which by process of deduction makes the other—a tall aquatic monster with long fins, light green scaled skin, short white hair, webbed hands, and a long, finned tail—Gamma. Both are dressed in neutrally colored, modest clothing, are wearing the same type of white lab coats Alphys and Rose are, and are staring at him and Alphys with a mix of annoyance and vague bewilderment.

 

With neither of them breaking eye contact, Sans watches Gamma subtly nudge Ficus’s arm next to them. “The boy is new, yes?” Ficus hums in agreement, and Sans gulps nervously when Gamma’s eyes focus directly on him, piercing and evaluating. “You are…Doctor Gaster’s new project?”

 

“Um.” Sans glances hesitantly at Alphys, who carefully avoids meeting his gaze, and back at Gamma and Ficus. “I’m Gaster’s new…assistant. My name is Sans. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Gamma huffs and turns back to the bench they’re standing at, picking back up the vial of liquid they’d set down upon Sans and Alphys’s entry. “The doctor is getting more and more peculiar in his choices.” Ficus mutters something incomprehensible, and Gamma sighs. “True. Let us just trust he knows what he is doing.” Glancing back up at Alphys, Gamma offers her something akin to a small smile. “Why not show Sans the break rooms, Alphys? I am sure he has not been acquainted with those yet, and there is always so much good food in the kitchen for hungry children.”

 

Alphys nods, quietly uttering one last apology and a goodbye, and slipping back through the door. Sans follows her slowly, casting a look back at the lab and the level, almost knowing, stare of Gamma as the door slips shut, and shivers.

 

…He can’t help feeling as if he has passed some kind of test.

 

Following Alphys as she leads him down the hall and through another door, Sans can’t stop himself from freezing in his tracks as they enter what he can only assume is the first of the break rooms. While the lab setups before certainly had been less than tidy, this is another level of chaos, especially after the relative neatness of what Sans could only assume is Gamma and Ficus’s work area. Literal piles of books, papers, and miscellaneous objects overflow from the bookshelves and onto the floor, stacked in messy rows that climb up the walls like an overgrown plant. Tucked in-between the mess of boxes and disregarded lab equipment is a pair of overstuffed plaid sofas and a large, old TV connected to what Sans thinks might be some kind of…gaming setup? Of course, here too the walls are papered with posters of the humanoid creatures and such, and scattered around the room are small plush toys and figurines of similar looking creatures.

 

If Sans thought Wind’s office was a bit messy, it pales in comparison to this instantly.

 

…He likes it. It feels lived in.

 

Glancing around, he notes a couple other unplugged machines that might be other gaming devices, and a door leading to what he can only assume is the referenced connected kitchen. Grinning, he turns to Alphys, who is hurriedly trying to straighten up a couple of lopsided figurines on the shelf next to her.

 

“So, um, this is the break room…it’s kind of a mess. We never really, uh, have time to clean, b-but there’s a kitchen and we have a couple other rooms set up for when um…when we need to spend the night, so…so…”

 

“It’s _brilliant,_ ” Sans says happily, looking around. There’s a kind of comfort in the mess that reminds him of the cave. No matter how hard he tries to keep things organized there, an inevitable part of living in a small cave is that stuff piles up— the best he can do is contain it to piles and boxes along the cave walls. This…this is another level of cluttered, but the similarities feel comfortable, and the array of half-finished what he assumes are manga left open on the lumpy couches and the controllers scattered at the feet of them feels…homey. It isn’t what Sans would expect from a laboratory break room, but he certainly isn’t complaining, and the atmosphere of it feels…fitting of a space Gaster—hell, even Wind and Rose—would spend their free time in.

 

Carefully, Sans maneuvers around a couple piles of papers and spare parts on the floor and over to the first couch, picking up one of the open volumes resting on it and flipping through. It’s not a language he recognizes, but the images are nice, if nothing else. Kind of like the picture books he picks up for Papyrus when he can get his hands on them. Turning a page, he spots a drawing of a young girl covered in blood, and winces. Ok, maybe not so much like the picture books after all.

 

Resolutely, he closes the book, pushing the dark hair of the girl and her horrified expression to the back of his mind. He can’t go having an episode every time he sees something that looks vaguely like the human. It’s not practical, nor does he think his psyche could handle it.

 

Coughing, he turns to Alphys, who has carefully sidled up next to him and is pretending not to watch him curiously. “So you said you all crash here sometimes? Overnight?”

 

Alphys startles, caught, and looks away. “Yeah, um…not too often. Wind and Rose are the most likely to stay overnight. They have their own room, and so do Gamma and Ficus, though they tend to go home every night unless something unexpected comes up. I have a room too, but my dad likes me to be home at night.”

 

“Huh.” Turning over the book in his hands, Sans squints at the illegible characters on the back. “And I’m guessing _this_ is manga?”

 

“Yes! The original Japanese! We have the English version too, but I prefer reading in the original language when I can, so much is always lost in the translation. Like in this series, the main character, she—“ Alphys cuts herself off, flushing and looking down. “Um, sorry.”

 

“No, it’s uh, fine.” Gently, Sans puts the manga back down on the couch and walks over to the bookshelf nearest to him, studying the titles of the scientific collections interspersed with the thin manga volumes without any seeming order or reason.

 

“So your parents, they don’t mind you working here? Or…studying here? Whatever it is Gaster’s got on the files.”

 

Alphys hums, some of the tension relaxing from her shoulders as she steps into place next to him and removes a manga volume from the shelf, scrutinizing its cover with intensity. “Not anymore? There were rules and forms and stuff to work out at first, but—my dad, he’s an engineer at the Core, has known Doctor Gaster for years. He knew he's a good guy, and Rose agreeing to be my supervisor along with Gaster alleviated any concerns most other people had about it.”

 

Sans blinks. “Alright…wait, how’d you even meet Gaster? He’s odd, but I don’t think trolling schools looking for smart kids to recruit for his experiments is exactly his usual style.”

 

Alphys snorts slightly, cheeks tinting pink in response to her own noise of reaction, and coughs in embarrassment. “My dad, he uh—his hours at the Core are long, and he couldn’t really afford to have someone watch me after school, so a lot of afternoons when I was younger, I’d walk over to the Core, and spend the rest of his work day helping him with odd jobs or hanging around and doing my homework. Doctor Gaster, he um…he was helping with the Core for a few days a couple years ago, some issue with the steam vents I think, and one day caught me tinkering with a loose vent duct and some spare parts in an area I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought he was going to be furious, but instead he sat down and…well, asked me to keep going, to explain what I was thinking while I worked.” She shrugs. “So I fix the duct and he offers me a job here, as a kind of…alternate education? I guess? That’s what the forms say. That was, um, just a little under two years ago now? It was about a month before my fourteenth birthday and I’ll be sixteen in a couple months so…” Glancing at Sans, Alphys quirks an eyebrow. “Doctor Gaster, he, um—are you _really_ twelve?”

 

Sans sighs, resolutely focusing on the bookshelf. “Are you asking me that because I look younger or because you’d expect me to be older to be here?”

 

“I…both?”

 

Welp. At least she was honest. And while Sans couldn’t offer honesty, he could offer consistency.

 

“Yes, I’m twelve. Yes, I look small for my age. No, I don’t know why Doctor Gaster chose to look over my age.”

 

Well, that last part is technically a strong lie, but he feels _"I’ve relived timelines and experienced death multiple times along with my human friend and adoptive sibling"_  isn’t really appropriate first conversation material.

 

“Still,” Alphys hums, “you must have done _something_ to get his attention.”

 

Wincing, Sans opts to go with the first thing that comes into his mind and, conveniently, a partial truth. “I, uh, disabled some of his surveillance cameras. Black screens, dummy feeds, you get the idea. He found out and…I guess that was enough to impress him.”

 

Alphys giggles slightly. “That does sound like him. And your parents were cool with this, just like that?”

 

Sans coughs, shrugging. “Yeah, well, y'know. I’m…homeschooled and stuff. They’re both…at work all day. This way I’m out of their hair and it’s free babysitting for my brother, too.”

 

“You have a brother?” Alphys voice echoes her surprise.

 

“Yeah uh…Paps—um, Papyrus that is—he’s…still pretty little. Too young to stay home alone, ya know? Wind agreed to watch him during the days I’m here so…”

 

Alphys smiles. “Of course she did. Wind likes to act tough, all _'Miss Bodyguard'_ and _'former Royal Guard trainee'_ , but she’s got a soft spot for little kids a mile wide. She says it’s because she never got to have any little siblings, so she never learned to fear young children. Your brother’s in good hands.”

 

Sans sighs in slight relief. “I thought so, but that’s…good to hear.”

 

Alphys hums, flipping back over the manga volume she’s holding and replacing it on the shelf. “So what are you going to be doing here? Doctor Gaster said you’re working directly with him, but a lot of his work is done in his private lab. Not even Rose knows the full extent of what he gets up to in there. What made him trust you like that so quickly?”

 

Sans pauses, running the question over in his mind. It’s not as if he hadn’t considered it before. For Gaster to so suddenly and instantaneously place his trust and hopes in Sans like this is startling and—had it been anything else tying them together—would likely be very confusing. Still, Sans supposes he trusted Gaster almost as quickly. Being the only two monsters in the Underground clearly aligned with a common, illegal goal will do that, he supposes.

 

“Dunno,” he says quietly, reaching up to the shelf slightly out of his reach on his toes and running a finger along the spines of the books. “Shared life experiences, I guess.” Gently, his hand comes to rest on a thick volume with gold lettering and he tugs at it in an attempt to remove it. “Hey, do you know—“

 

Before Sans can finish his sentence, the bookshelf tips over, as if finally swayed from its precarious, overburdened position by the attempted removal of that one singular book, and onto both himself and Alphys.

 

           

xxx

 

 

_There are rocks, falling around them, above them, through them—the whole cave ceiling surrounding them collapsing in, as the echoing shakes of magic reverberate through. Sans can feel the rocks as they come crashing down onto him, shattering him, his skull, his ribs, his arms. He can hear the human screaming out—in fear, in pain, in terror-fueled panic._

_She needs help. She needs help and he can’t move can’t move can’t move…_

_…Everything is pain._

_He is dying, dying, dying. They both are. The rocks are crushing them._

_He is dead and gone. Now, not yet, already…when?_

_He wants Papyrus. He wants Grillby. He wants Ignis. He wants…somebody. Anybody._

_He wants his sister._

_He feels another rock smash through what little is left intact of his skull, and then the sweet, empty embrace of nothing._

_He welcomes the bliss of the void as the world resets._

xxx

 

 

“Sans! Sans, are you alright?! Wake up!”

 

He wakes up to Alphys’s screams as she shakes him.

 

Opening his eyes, Sans can see Alphys hovering over him, feel the smooth texture of the lab floor beneath his skull. She’s still talking, but it’s only white noise, filtering in and out of his head without comprehension. He opens his mouth, to give some response, some assurance he’s alright, but chokes, air and magic and dust caught in his chest.

 

He feels Alphys’s hand on his back, helping him up to a sitting position, but simply hunches in on himself, clawing at his arms, his skull, for some point of fixture.

 

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, can’t breathe and can still feel the rocks collapsing down on him, hear his sister’s screams as she is crushed.

 

Weight. There is so much phantom weight hanging off him and pressing down, ripping his breath from his chest as he fights for air, for relief, for _something_.

 

He can’t see anymore, the room a hazy grey in his panic.

 

It hurts.

 

Desperately, he fumbles at his sweater for the ever-present pendant underneath it, his reassurance, his safety. The only thing he has left of her, his last piece of comfort. He feels his finger bones scrape against the wool of his sweater and the bones underneath, catching on loose threads, but is too panicked to stop and properly find a way to retrieve his pendant.

 

He feels the catch of the ribbon and metal chain against a finger and desperately tugs at it, only to be relieved as suddenly the pendant is _there_ , pressed into his hand by an unfamiliarly cold and smooth one, but he doesn’t bother to dwell on it, instead cradling the pendant close to his chest with both hands, curling in on himself around it in a desperate attempt to calm himself.

 

Slowly, running his fingers over the smooth curved glass and the metal clasp at the top, he comes back to himself, his breathing slowly steadying out. When his vision clears, Alphys is there, kneeling next to him, her expression nothing but worry. Wincing, he glances down at the memory pendant, running his thumb over its curved edge. Remembering the unfamiliar object… _hand_...from before, he looks back up at Alphys. “You…?”

 

Alphys flushes, glancing down and fiddling with her hands. “Yeah, I um. Saw you pulling at the chain, and… “

 

Sans sighs, more firmly clasping the pendant in one hand and bringing up the other to rub at his skull. “…Thanks. That um. Thanks.”

 

Alphys relaxes slightly. “No problem.”

 

“No, really,” he mutters quietly. “I don’t know _how_ you knew just from seeing a bit of chain, but…that really helped. Sorry I was…kind of a mess.”

 

“No, it’s fine I…I get it.” Sans blinks in confusion, and Alphys offers him a shaky smile before reaching under the collar of her own shirt and tugging up the thin edge of a similar silvery chain. “I know what a memory pendant looks like.”

 

Sans winces, studying the glimmer of the chain before it disappears back underneath Alphys’s shirt collar. “Sorry.”

 

Alphys shrugs. “It was a long time ago. My mother, she um…fell down when I was quite young. That’s why I had to start spending afternoons at the Core. There was no longer anyone at home to look after me and keep me from—I don’t know, setting fire to something, I guess.”

 

Sans snorts slightly, feeling some of the tension curl out of his frame. “Pretty sure you’re in more danger of setting something on fire here, honestly.”

 

“Probably.” Alphys giggles. “But it’s…nice, being here, you know? Home was so quiet after Mom passed, and Dad was always busy working to make enough to provide for us both. This place, it’s just…despite all the uninhabited space down here, it…feels alive. I like being here.”

 

Looking around at the mess of books and boxes flooding the room, Sans grins. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?”

 

“Rose has this saying,” Alphys says quietly, her voice nostalgically happy. “That Doctor Gaster, he has this habit of finding people in their darkest hour, when they’re alone and in need of a friend, a family, and he brings them home. A place they belong.”

 

She glances at Sans and smiles, and he grins awkwardly back, gaze dropping to his pendant as he fiddles with it. Pausing for a moment in contemplation, he hesitates, and then opens his mouth. “My…sister. She uh, she died, a few months ago. This is…” He gestures vaguely at the pendant. “Her. I felt like…dying, like the world had ended, but this—Gaster, the labs.” He sighs. “It feels…ok? Not _good,_ I don’t know if I’m quite there yet, if I ever will be again, but…this is…something new, something…I don’t know. I’m just…all _this_ is really the first time I’ve felt…alive, since my sister.”

 

Alphys’s smile widens hesitantly, nodding in understanding. “I think I get it.” Glancing down, she hesitates, and then looks back up. “Um, your sister, what—“

 

She’s interrupted by a horrified shriek echoing from the doorway, effectively cutting off any words she may have attempted to utter. Wincing at the noisy assault on his hearing, Sans glances up and shrinks in on himself slightly at the sight of a wide-eyed Rose staring down at them, Gamma, Ficus, and Gaster peering over her shoulders slightly behind her, the former two with vaguely bored expressions and the latter with an utterly confused one.

 

Sans barely has time to blink, and Rose is just _there_ , strong but gentle arms picking him up and out from the mess around him that he suddenly realizes is the overturned contents of the bookshelf from when it fell. Vaguely, he can hear Rose talking—well, ranting, loudly—as she puts him down on a clear spot on the closest sofa, doing the same with Alphys a moment after, but the words are lost to him as he properly takes in the wreckage from the collapsed bookshelf for the first time.

 

Loos papers, books, manga volumes, and figurines litter the floor in a giant heap surrounding where Rose had plucked himself and Alphys out of the middle, and off to the side is the overturned bookshelf, tilting precariously on its thin side from where Sans can only assume Alphys had pushed the bookshelf off them. Certainly wasn’t him, at least.

 

They were…actually rather lucky not to have been hurt badly, Sans thinks, cringing slightly. There’s no more going back whenever something bad happens. A death now would be permanent.

 

Permanent.

 

…After everything, the idea of a permanent death is both a strange and sobering concept.

 

The human is gone, the rules of the game are different now. If he doesn’t learn to play along, he won’t survive.

 

A hand suddenly presses to the side of his skull, and he flinches away on instinct, only to focus in on Rose standing in front of him, arm outstretched and concern clearly written across her face. He does his best to offer her a reassuring smile to show he is alright, and she tsks, turning back to Gaster with a huff.

 

“I told you we needed to nail down those bookcases! Or at least clean them up a little! So much stuff is stacked on those things with no order or balance for weight it was only a matter of time before one fell down! Sans and Alphys could have been seriously hurt, or worse!”

 

Next to him, Sans feels Alphys shift nervously. “We’re alright. Sans caught the worst of it with his magic, lucky for me.”

 

Sans blinks. “I did?”

 

“Yes…?” Alphys frowns. “You don’t remember?”

 

Sans shrugs in bemusement, vaguely wondering how he’d managed to subconsciously and accurately control his blue movement magic like that in a moment of panic, and above them Rose makes another sound of disapproval. “That doesn’t excuse the possibilities of what _could_ have happened! Honestly Gaster, what the _hell_ would you have told Sans’s parents if you’d had to call and say he’s in the hospital on day one?!”

 

Gaster, who in the interim has sidled up to the couch without Sans noticing, waves a hand lazily. “But he didn’t. And the odds of one of the bookshelves falling like that, even with extra materials stacked on it, are so minuscule who could have predicted it? It was just…bad timing.” Over Sans’s head, Rose leans over and whacks Gaster on the shoulder, and the scientist whines in pain. “What the fuck was that for?”

 

“One of your bookshelves nearly crushed two children and your response is that the odds of it happening were low?! The odds would have been lower if that bookshelf had been organized properly!”

 

Next to them, a voice grumbles indistinctly, and Sans glances over to see Ficus and Gamma pushing the bookshelf back into place, the former muttering quietly to the latter while they nod in annoyance. Looking back over at the four of them near the sofa, Gamma shrugs and nudges the bookshelf. “The Doctor is hardly the only one in here, Rose. Far from it. If you are so concerned about this, I suggest you clean it. Now if you excuse us, our work has been interrupted enough as it is.” With that, the two walk out the room, an incredulous Rose glaring at them as they go. Despite her evident frustration though, Sans notices she makes no clear vocalization to correct them.

 

Sighing, Rose glances back over at Gaster, who shrugs. “If you really want to nail the bookcases to the walls, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll even help if you’re that worried, just not right now. The day is getting old already, and there’s a metric fuckton of work to be done. Now, assuming Alphys is done giving Sans the tour…” Gaster glances down at Alphys, who nods quickly. “I’ll be taking my new assistant down to my personal work area to give him the more, er, comprehensive show of things. C’mon, Sans.” Turning sharply, Gaster turns and sweeps out of the room, and all Sans can do is offer Rose an apologetic grin and half-shrug as he jumps off the couch and scrambles after the other monster.

 

He can only hope this doesn’t become a regular pattern with Gaster. It’s rather awkward having to run after him every time he bails from a conversation.

 

Well…it is a time-saver on the unnecessary pleasantries if nothing else, he supposes.

 

And time is oh-so-valuable now.

 

 

xxx

 

 

“So…” Sans says, following awkwardly behind Gaster as the other leads him through the twisting hallways and cluttered work rooms of the labs. “A private work area?”

 

“Of course,” Gaster says, waving a hand idly behind him, “It’s traditional for the Royal Scientist to have their own work area separate from their assistants. It's a status symbol or something, I suppose. I mostly just use it for more…ah, delicate experiments. The things Rose doesn’t need to know about.”

 

“Right, yeah, but…” Sans scratches at his skull, glancing up at Gaster in thought. “I don’t know, I guess I just assumed after, uh…what happened, you wouldn’t be allowed a private lab anymore.”

 

Gaster snorts, glancing back wryly at Sans. “Believe me, I’m sure if the guard could have, they would have seized this whole lab from me instantaneously, but Asgore’s guilt over the situation and our history was luckily enough for me to retain control of the labs. And in here, I _absolutely_ have control. This is my domain, they can’t touch me in here. Never again.” For a moment, a shadow crosses Gaster’s face, and then his expression brightens, and he turns back around to face forward as they reach a set of metal doors. “Ah, here we are.” Reaching out, Gaster taps in a code on a metal pad on the wall and the doors slide open, and Sans blinks in surprise.

 

“An elevator?”

 

Gaster grins, stepping into the elevator and gesturing to Sans to follow. “Did I say private work area? I meant floor.”

 

With a bemused snort, Sans steps into the elevator, casting a critical eye to the posters littering the walls as the doors slip shut. “You really don’t waste a single spot, do you?”

 

Raising an eyebrow, Gaster glances at both Sans and the wall and shrugs. “It’s a steep improvement over a plain grey wall, no? Besides, Rose told me I couldn’t, so it was obligatory to therefore do so.” The elevator doors open, and Gaster files out, systematically flipping on a large panel of light switches on the wall next to the elevator. As the lights switch on and the room before them comes into view, Sans lets out a low whistle.

 

It is, for lack of any other appropriate word, a literal disaster zone.

 

Sans honestly isn’t sure what color the walls are, papered as they are with the…well, based off what Alphys said, probably manga posters, and tacked-up groupings of papers covered in illegible scribbles, the majority of which doesn’t even look like Common, nor any other language he’s familiar enough with to recognize. The floor he can discern is a stain-covered grey, but only by the small patches forming walkways, the rest covered with boxes, books, equipment, and god knows what else—he thinks there might even be a karaoke machine sitting in the corner.

 

Basically, it’s a complete mess—one that puts even the break room upstairs to shame. At least he could pick out the separate bookshelves there, here it’s hard to tell what even is on a shelf and is not with all the precarious stacks of mystery objects piled everywhere. The only things even remotely clean are the work benches, piles of loose papers and manga volumes crowded to the sides of the tables in order to leave room for the delicate equipment and fragile beakers sitting on them.

 

Sans has to admit, the whole place feels very fitting of Gaster, in a way.

 

Taking a step over to the nearest lab bench, Sans picks up a loose sheet of paper resting next to a half-assembled machine, and peers at it, looking over the numbers scrawled on it haphazardly. Glancing up at Gaster, who is still hovering near the light panel, the other shifts nervously and shrugs hesitantly. “Well?”

 

“Well…” Sans’s eyes dart to the paper again, before holding it up and waving it at Gaster. “Your math here is wrong.”

 

Gaster’s eyes widen, and in an instant he is next to him, snatching the paper out of Sans’s hands and holding it up to his face to glare at it as if it has personally offended him. “…Motherfuck, you’re right.”

 

Sans grins, glancing back down at the bench and reaching out with a hand to gently spin a loose cog on the machine. “Hey, um, about earlier, with the uh…paperwork and stuff…”

 

“Oh!” Gaster says, straightening up and sticking a hand in his lab coat to retrieve a folder. “Yes! Here! Rose gave me quite the lecture on following proper procedure, but luckily while she was doing all that she also took the time to fill in the majority of the paperwork for us.” Opening the folder, he places it on the bench and spreads out the contents. “All it needs is yours and ‘parent’s’ signatures. Luckily,” he says, pulling out a pen and twirling it with one hand, “I am well-versed in forgery.” Humming, Gaster leans over and scrawls two impressively illegible and generic signatures on the first of the forms before moving onto the rest, working through them quickly before offering the pen to Sans. “Now all that’s left is your signature.”

 

With a careful look, Sans takes the pen from Gaster and scrawls his own messy signature across each of the blank boxes on the forms, leaning back once he’s finished and fiddling with the pen. “…Thank you.”

 

“Hardly,” Gaster says, waving a hand as he sweeps up the papers and tucks them back into the folder, closing it and sticking it back in his lab coat. “It’s just a couple signatures.”

 

“No, really,” he mutters quietly, sighing. “Thank you. For not...you didn’t…with Wind, I mean…”

 

“Sans,” Gaster says firmly, cutting off his garbled attempts at a sentence. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend I approve of your life choices. Indeed, I’d much prefer you find somewhere safer to sleep and make your home than a cave, even if it’s just here. However, I understand why you’ve made the choices you have, and I’m not going to attempt to stop you or interfere. It is not my place, and doing so would make me a hypocrite, given I would have almost definitely done the same thing in your situation. All I ask is that, if you ever fall into a problem you can not reasonably solve, you trust me enough to ask me for help, or at least assistance.”

 

“Thank you,” Sans says again, quieter, hesitating for a moment. “Um…Gaster, what exactly _do_ you think my…situation is?”

 

Gaster raises an eyebrow, leaning one hip against the bench. “I have some ideas. I doubt I know the full story, or even the half of it, but—“ he says, raising a hand when Sans goes to respond, “I am not going to ask you to tell me. While I’d definitely like to know if and _when_ you’re willing, I don’t think we’re quite there yet, correct?”

 

Sans nods, exhaling lowly in relief. “Yeah.”

 

Gaster nods, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “Well then, shall we begin?”

 

Sans shrugs, picking back up the piece of paper Gaster had set down. “Well, given you’re somehow making rudimentary mathematical errors on your own, we probably should.”

 

Gaster chuckles in surprise, stance relaxing slightly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, kid.”

 

Grinning, Sans places the paper back on the table and sticks his hands in his coat pockets, rocking back on his heels. “If this is the kind of mistake you make, no wonder you need my help. So, want to show me that timeline monitoring equipment you were talking about?”

 

Gaster’s matching grin is enough of an answer.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Wind is the one who finds them, hours later, hunched over a new mess of papers with equations scrawled across them, in front of a monitor and a mess of measurement and graphing equipment plugged into each other in a tangle of wires. Sans doesn’t even realize she’s there until he feels a crumbled ball of paper bap him on the forehead, startling him into looking up to see her standing there with a faintly amused expression and a quietly dozing Papyrus wrapped up in her jacket and propped on one hip.

 

She winks at him, gesturing to Gaster, and Sans nudges the monster next to him, who is still focused on the paper he’s scrawling on. Flinching in surprise, Gaster looks up at Wind and pouts ridiculously, expression disgruntled. “We’ve only been working for a little while!”

 

Winds snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Try all afternoon, Boss. It’s already hitting night, star crystals are out and shining.”

 

Gaster blinks, eyes wide. “Really? Felt like no time at all.” He glances at Sans, who shrugs in response, earning a frustrated look.

 

Not that Sans disagrees with him there, really. Gaster is a whirlwind of barely-coherent chaos and rambling, nonsensical theory. He writes like a maniac, scribbling on everything in sight, rants seamlessly, changing languages without even pausing for breath, and his idea of explanation is vaguely shouting and gesturing at something before poking it with a pen until he fixes whatever problem seemed to be concerning him. Trying to keep up with him is crazy, exhausting, and frustrating.

 

And Sans loves it.

 

He still doesn’t understand most of what Gaster was saying, and spent most of the time trying to answer questions he didn’t have a good response to that Gaster threw at him as he tinkered at the machines. Hell, he doesn’t even know what half these machines are called—he’s pretty sure the large one with the catgirl sticker on the side is for measuring barrier disturbances, but given Gaster spent the entire time referring to it solely as “Melissa” he really isn’t sure. But still, it’s…exhilarating. The speed, the rapid shifts with which Gaster works leave no room for other thoughts.

 

It’s the first time his mind has been properly focused on one task in weeks. It’s…peaceful.

 

Still, he sees what Gaster meant about this being a long term investment of sorts. They’ve been down here all afternoon and all Sans has done is answer some questions and learn a little bit about some machines and the math that goes with them. They aren’t solving the problem of timelines and the barrier in a day, or two, or three.

 

But, if Sans is honest, the idea of being here for a while isn’t exactly unappealing. It’s so much more lively than the quiet seclusion of Waterfall and the memories of a life lost to him that now cling to their cave dwelling.

 

Next to him, Sans feels Gaster stand up, and hurriedly pushes himself to his feet as well, dusting off the mess of chalk and lead now clinging to his sweater. Looking up, he sees Wind offer him Papyrus, and takes him gratefully, snuggling his sleeping brother close to his chest with one hand and using the other to try to remove Wind’s jacket.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wind says quietly. “Not worth waking him. Just give it back tomorrow. I mean—“ she coughs, glancing at Gaster, “assuming you’re coming back tomorrow.”

 

“Of course he is,” Gaster says cheerfully, saving Sans from having to answer. “I need him.”

 

Sans blinks, looking down at the floor and hiding a small smile. It’s not his sister, not even close, but it feels…good, to be needed again. Well, needed by someone who isn’t Papyrus, who never had any choice but to rely on him.

 

No, this—to be needed by someone who _chose_ him—this is different.

 

Shrugging his shoulders slightly to settle Papyrus’s weight in his arms more evenly, Sans turns back up to Gaster and Wind and offers a small grin. “I should probably get going then, if it’s as late as Wind’s saying. Bit of a hike back to Waterfall.”

 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Gaster says, slapping himself on the forehead. “How could I forget that? It’s too late for you to walk all the way back through the Capital yourself in the dark, I’ll go with you.”

 

“Waterfall?” Wind frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on walking from there to the Capital every day and back, that’s way too far.” Sans shrugs, and she sighs, casting a less than amused look at a befuddled Gaster. “Why didn’t you show him the way through the extension to Hotland, you arsehole? That’s way faster!”

 

“I…didn’t think of that.”

 

“Of course you didn’t,” Winds says with another sigh. “C’mon, Sans, I’ll show you the way.”

 

Quietly, Sans follows her, Gaster trailing slightly behind him, up the elevator out of Gaster’s private floor and back through the halls to the first room they’d been in after Wind’s office. Rose is standing there, leaning against a table and fiddling with her phone. Glancing up at them, she scoffs, shaking her head.

 

“Alphys left an hour ago, Gamma and Ficus near two, and you keep that one holed up in your pit all day. What will his parents say? It’s only his first day.”

 

Sans shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “They work late. They’re not gonna mind.”

 

“I was just showing Sans how to take a shortcut closer to Waterfall through the Hotland extension,” Wind says amicably. “The great Wing-dingus here forgot and walked him through the Capital.”

 

Rose sighs. “Naturally. Alright, just be quick, I don’t want to get home too late.” Wind nods, leading Sans away towards the one doorway he hadn’t been shown earlier, and Gaster goes to follow, only to be stopped by Rose’s arm in front of his chest. “Not you, we need to talk.”

 

Gaster slumps, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine.” Glancing at Sans, he waves a hand. “Go on. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

Nodding hesitantly, Sans turns and follows Wind through the doorway into a long, thin hall.

 

“The Hotland extension is kind of like our Site B for projects,” Wind mutters as they walk. “There’s a lot of underground stuff connected to this passage, but it’s just used for storage mostly, aside from the on-level building in Hotland. Gamma and Ficus work out of there a lot. Gives them more room for some of their delicate experiments without having to worry about Gaster er…rocking the building with an explosion or something. The one other thing it’s good for, though, is a shortcut.” Looking backwards over her shoulder, she grins at him. “Since we’re on our own level, this is a direct passage straight from the castle to the base level of Hotland. No need to worry about all the levels of Hotland or passing through the Capital, which cuts what would be an hour’s walk minimum to about…well, five or ten minutes, tops. Speaking of which…ah, here we go.” Reaching the end of the hallway, Wind pauses, typing in a code on a keypad, and the doors before them swipe open into a deserted room piled with storage boxes and obscure shapes covered by dusty sheets.

 

“…All _this_ is just storage?”

 

“Yep.” Wind places a hand on his back, gently guiding him through the mess. “Gaster’s accumulated a lot of junk over the years. He used to keep most of it on his floor or the rooms next to it, but Rose eventually managed to convince him to move the parts he wasn’t using down here for proper storage.” They reach an elevator, and Wind enters another code, before leading him inside. When the doors open again, they are instead in a pleasantly open, high-ceilinged lab space with stairs in the corner leading up to a loft-like second floor.

 

Looking around at the neatly organized shelves and tables, a stark contrast to the main lab, Sans blinks when Wind disappears from his side, finding her instead standing at a doorway and pushing it open, gesturing to him with a smile. Walking over, he gasps slightly in surprise at the landscape of Hotland right outside the door.

 

“That’s…one hell of a shortcut.”

 

Wind grins. “I know, right? So, down to the left is the dock, where you can get a ride back to central Waterfall. Assuming Gaster told you the door code, you should be able to get back this way to the labs from now on.”

 

Sans nods, breathing a sigh of relief and slipping out through the doorway, turning back to Wind with a thankful grin. “Thank you.”

 

She winks. “No problem, kiddo. Just look after yourself, alright? And your brother, he’s one energetic little gremlin.” Sans snorts, and Wind chuckles, her wings rustling slightly with the movement. “See you tomorrow, Sans.”

 

He smiles, turning and waving. “You too.”

 

Trudging up the path, he pauses when he hears the lab doors shut behind him, contemplating the path leading to the dock, before heading down the center, back towards Waterfall. He’s dealt with enough of the Riverperson’s mystery for one day, and he could use the fresh air of the walk back.

 

Well, as fresh as air gets in the Underground, at least.

 

It’s only when he reaches the bridge to Waterfall he hesitates, eyes trained to the ground on the far end.

 

_Fighting, spinning, turning. Everything is desperation and the need to protect._

 

This is where she fought.

 

This is where she fell.

 

This is where they killed her.

 

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, and cradling Papyrus closer for comfort, Sans forces himself across the bridge to the cursed clearing, firmly avoiding looking at the rocky ground below him as if expecting to see a bloodstain.

 

Instead, he resolutely turns his head up and back, studying the shrunken, but still visible figure of the Hotland lab, and feeling something tight and anxious inside uncoil slightly at the sight of it.

 

Humming, he glances down at his brother’s sleeping face, curled close to his chest and tucked up in Wind’s jacket, and his spare hand almost unconsciously finds its way to the barely noticeable lump underneath his sweater where the memory pendant rests.

 

“It’s a new beginning, Paps,” he breathes softly, hand tightening over the pendant. “And I’m going to get it right this time.”

 

Looking back up at the lab, he sighs.

 

“I promise.”

 

For her.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for how long this update took, I've been crazy busy with finals for college, a family trip, and picking up extra work trying to make a bit of spare cash to go visit my lovely qpp Cora. I promise the next update won't take so long, but I will be honest in admitting that jobs take up a lot of time normally given over to writing, so if you really enjoy this fic and want to buy me more writing time, I have both a small donations button and a Patreon, both accessible from my tumblr!
> 
> Chapter pacing should change considerably from here on out, now that we've cleared what I'll call the "lab intro". Chapters will likely be longer, and more segmented with time gaps, similar to how chapter seven was written, as from here on out in the next 6 or 7 chapters we're covering period of months and years rather than days.
> 
> One last thing, for anyone who ever wants to check what's going on with the fic, my tumblr's the best place to do it. On there I reblog fanart, post sketches of characters from the fic, answer asks about it, make posts talking about my progress, and link livestreams of me writing the chapters. If you're looking for updates on what's happening, there's the place to check!
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.


	14. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been four months since he started working in the labs, and while it is many things, it isn’t boring, he’ll give it that.
> 
>  
> 
> …Most definitely not boring.
> 
>  
> 
> Not in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's a new chapter for y'all! Sorry it took so long! I ended up splitting the projected chapter in half because it was getting er. Very Long. But I hope to have the next chap out by this weekend!
> 
> Also! New Fanart!! A million thanks to blueberrychill for their absolutely gorgeous art of Integrity that left me near tears, which you can [check out here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148286058973/pastel-clark-blueberrychill-this-is), and to celestialfeathers for yet more amazing art, this time of Integrity's death scene, which you can [take a look at here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148286088383/pastel-clark-i-like-pencil-you-know-why-it).
> 
> And [more art here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285849688/pastel-clark-so-one-of-my-favorite-artists-was)! This time commissions I got done from the lovely 89animegirl of Rose & Wind, and Sans & Integrity! 
> 
> (I've also put together official references for the lab staff if you're interested: [Rose](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285786168/pastel-clark-bioengineer-head-royal-assistant), [Wind](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285698543/pastel-clark-secretary-bodyguard-and), [Gamma](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285879913/pastel-clark-chemist-analyst-and-that-one), and [Ficus](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285975368/pastel-clark-biochemist-plant-expert-and)!)
> 
> Also, for those of you that noticed the link changes, there's now an [Official Blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/) for all Not As Simple related content -- so for those of you that want to keep up on the updates and new art of Not As Simple, or ask questions about the world, without having to deal with all the other stuff on my main blog, this is for you!
> 
> Additionally, for those of you looking for something to listen to while reading, [I've put out an updated version of the Not As Simple playlist.](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148285903253/pastel-clark-so-a-few-months-ago-i-put-out-a)
> 
> That's it! Enjoy!

Sans is walking down the primary corridor connecting the main lab complexes to one another, idly scanning with vague interest through the papers marked irregularly with highlighter and half-finished equations resting on top of the stack of books he’s carrying, when he hears the panicked yelling echoing noisily from the approaching other end of the corridor.

 

Looking up, he barely has a second to blink, drop what he’s carrying, and throw himself up against the wall before a giant, green-grey, goopy… _thing_ goes barreling past, making some kind of high-pitched shrieking sound that reminds Sans a bit of electrical interference, followed closely behind by a yelling Wind carrying a broom, screaming nonsensically at the thing as she swats and misses at it, before disappearing around the corner.

 

Unpeeling himself from the wall, Sans glances back up to see Rose running up, hair a mess and a harried expression on her face, with a slightly-unnerved looking Gamma—which is concerning in its own right, given Gamma doesn’t often look unnerved, or emote in general—carrying a giggling Papyrus, behind her.

 

Coming to a stop next to Sans, her hands on her knees as she pants for breath, Rose glances over at him and offers him a shaky, slightly manic smile. “Ah. Sans. Good. We’ve run into a small…issue.”

 

Glancing down the corridor towards where Wind and the rampaging slime had disappeared, Sans snorts. “No kidding. What even was that thing?”

 

Rose sighs, straightening up. “One of Gamma and Ficus’s infamous and inexplicably mobile and vocal slimes. Non-sentient but…disruptive.” Sans’s gaze flickers over to Gamma, who shrugs in bewilderment. “Now then,” Rose says, dusting off her lab coat, “if you’ll excuse me…” With that, she takes off again, disappearing around the corner towards where Wind and the slime thing went off, and with a half-hearted sigh, Gamma takes off after her, their sneakers splattering in the leftover slime clinging to the floor as Sans’s brother shrieks in delight and waves at him over their shoulder.

 

Looking down at the now slime-drenched pile of papers and books lying on the floor, Sans groans, then runs down the corridor after Gamma, Rose, and his brother. Luckily, despite all the time now spent in the labs, Sans still hasn’t lost the quick speed he’d built up after years of running around Waterfall, and given he’s chasing after two people burdened by carrying a child and wearing heels, respectively, it doesn’t take him long to catch up.

 

Finding them frozen in the middle of the corridor, he comes to a stop behind them and peers around Gamma’s side to see the slime seemingly cornered against the wall by Wind. With a victorious yell, Wind raises her broom, only for the thing to let out another ear-piercing shriek and dive past her, knocking into her and sending her stumbling as Rose leaps out to steady her. Still screeching, the thing shoots down the hall, and Sans, glancing up momentarily at the dumbstruck adults, snorts and chases after it.

 

No matter what else one could say about being around here every day, for one thing, it certainly isn’t boring. Or sedentary work, for that matter—Sans spends a _lot_ more time running away from things than he’d even been originally expecting.

 

Sans figures he’ll just let the thing run itself down the hall until it hits the dead end that is Gaster’s elevator and then keep it there until Wind catches up, until he hears a scream and sees a wide-eyed Alphys staring up at the rapidly approaching slime. He’s about to yell at her to get out of the way when she shoots forward, towards and right into the slime’s path.

 

Feeling a rush of likely unnecessary panic, Sans surges, letting instinct take over and pull him through space instantaneously as he wills himself to be _there_ and not here, and feels his body slam into another and roll into the wall as the screaming slime barrels past.

 

Sighing in relief, Sans pushes himself up and off the ground and the other monster, sitting back and opening his eyes.

 

_The human is laughing, hair a mess and sprayed out around her on the ground where they both lie after Sans had tackled her. They had been running around the room, alternatively chasing each other, after the human had stuck her camera in Sans’s face while he was reading over his log of the runs, prompting the usual keep-away game with the camera. It’d finally ended when Sans had successfully knocked the human down and onto the bed, crashing onto it along with her before they both rolled off. Leaning back until his spine hits the side of the mattress, Sans grins, still slightly dizzy, as the human’s laughter dies down to the occasional giggle, and she opens her eyes._

_“Okay, okay. You won, Mister Scopophobia. No more photos.”_

“Sans?”

 

Sans blinks, glancing down at Alphys as she looks up at him.

 

Right. Alphys, not the human. He’s in the labs, not Waterfall, and he wasn’t messing around with his sister, he was trying to stop his friend from being run over by a slime.

 

…Yes, that. That is also still an issue to be dealt with.

 

Shaking his head, Sans focuses back in on Alphys. “You alright?”

 

Alphys snorts slightly, sighing. “Thanks to you. I’ve knocked into one of those things before. It’s…not pleasant.”

 

Sans does his equivalent of raising an eyebrow, rocking back on his heels in his crouched position. “Then why the hell’d you jump in front of it?”

 

Alphys smiles guiltily, uncurling slightly as a small lump shifts underneath her lab coat, before a fluffy white head pops out. “It was going to hit Toby.”

 

With a yip, the dog bounds off Alphys, slamming into Sans with a surprised shout from him and knocking him back onto the floor, peppering his face with doggy kisses. Laughing, he pets the excitable lump of fur and gently tried to ease him back off his chest so he can sit up.

 

“Ok. Ok! Jesus, Toby, you act like you didn’t see me just twenty minutes ago.”

 

Alphys grins, pushing herself to her feet and offering Sans a hand, pulling him up. “You’re his favorite, y’know, along with Gaster. He likes everyone well enough, but he never really took to anyone quite the way he did to Gaster, until you.”

 

Sans shrugs, shifting Toby until he’s settled in his arms along his chest, the little dog sniffing his way up his sweater before resting his head on his shoulder and burying his nose into his neck. “Probably just likes the smell of bones.”

 

Alphys giggles, shifting and peering down the corridor. “So, um…where’s the rest of the slime hunting brigade?”

 

Sans blinks, pausing in thought before hearing faint screaming as Wind, Rose, and Gamma come flying down the corridor past them, Wind still wielding her broom and yelling as Gamma and Rose do their best to keep up behind her.

 

“…That’d be them now.”

 

“…Right.”

 

Aphys shrugs, glancing at Sans, and turns, sprinting after the retreating adults, her lab coat flying and bright pink, sequined ugg boots flashing with each step. “C’mon then! You don’t wanna miss it when Wind finally corners that thing!”

 

With a bemused chuckle, Sans glances down at the bundle of fluff in his arms, only to feel a wet nose press against his cheek, and he grins.

 

Toby had been one of the first surprises of the labs. Sans had been there only three days when he’d shown up, amidst an explosion of noise as the little white ball of fur had come flying into the storage room Sans and Gaster had been in, a wrench in his mouth and followed closely behind by a rather angry Rose. With one flying leap, the tiny dog somehow managed to jump straight into Gaster’s waiting arms, peering at Sans over Gaster’s shoulder and panting happily as Rose screeched to a halt, glaring at the both of them. “That fucking rodent managed to get into my workspace and knock over everything— _again_.”

 

Gaster had sniffed, hoisting the little dog higher onto his chest. “I’m not restricting his movements around the labs. He’s been here longer than you and he knows to behave himself. If you simply didn’t yell at him and try to chase him out all the time, Toby wouldn’t touch your stuff.”

 

Sans had blinked, looking back up at the tiny white dog again. That’d explain the brightly colored food and water bowls engraved with the name _Toby_ he’d found tucked in a corner of Gaster’s workroom, along with an overstuffed dog bed next to them. Meeting his gaze, the little dog yipped, scrambling up and over Gaster’s shoulder and jumping down onto Sans, who managed to just barely catch Toby. Staring up at Gaster, who looked back down at him in shock, Sans squeaked in surprise when Toby began licking his face, and Gaster giggled slightly. “See, Rose? If you’re nice to him he’ll—annnnnd she’s gone.” Gaster trails off, turning back around.

 

Grinning, Sans snuggled Toby closer. “Cats and dogs.”

 

Gaster had snorted, rolling his eyes. “Quite.”

 

Startled by a wet lick along his chin, Sans glances down at Toby and idly pets the top of his head. He’d become a regular fixture around the labs after that, seemingly disappearing for hours or even days at a time to God knows where, only to reemerge, often from a ceiling panel or vent duct, with some odd tool or random object in his mouth. Though he seems to come and go as he pleases, Toby always returns back to the labs eventually, loyal to Gaster after what Sans has figured is roughly over a decade of care—not that that's too surprising. Monster dogs, even pet ones, have much longer lifespans than the regular dogs that dwell on the surface.

 

And yet, for whatever reason, he’d attached to Sans almost instantaneously. He also seems to have a fondness for Papyrus but…Papyrus isn’t as keen on Toby as the dog is of him, grumbling constantly about how much slobber he produces.

 

Hearing another crash echo down the corridor, Sans winces and glances down at Toby. “Guess we should check that out, huh, bud?” Hoisting Toby higher, Sans begins jogging after Alphys, carefully jumping between the puddles of slime.

 

“Never a dull moment around here, is there? Fucking…mobile slimes.”

 

It’s been four months since he started working in the labs, and while it is many things, it isn’t boring, he’ll give it that.

 

…Most definitely not boring.

 

Not in the slightest.

 

 

xxx

 

 

After the first day, despite the labs themselves having no stability or structure whatsoever in daily routine—if it can even be called that in regards to the labs—Sans finds it easy to slip into the new pattern of the daily trek to Hotland and the auxiliary lab.

 

Really, it’s not so different from his old schedule. Well, his _old_ old schedule…the one before the human. He wakes up early, dresses Papyrus, bullies him into eating breakfast, eats something himself if he has time, then carries his brother to wherever he has to work—except now it’s the same path every day rather than varying ones depending on what the Tems had wanted done. A straight shot through to Hotland and then through the auxiliary lab to the main complex. Gaster had been right, in the end. Sans has never had to step foot into the castle proper, and Wind had been waiting there for him that second morning at the auxiliary entrance, keycard in hand, just for him.

 

Those first few days are just that—falling into a pattern, learning the ropes. Gaster yells at empty air and throws papers around and tells him which machine is “Beatrice” and which one is “Chrysanthemum”, and Rose grumbles about children in the lab all while slipping Sans chemistry and physics textbooks that he hugs gratefully to his chest.

 

It takes four days for the Tems to corner him, on his walk over, to question why their favorite client is no longer popping in to see them, only for Gaster to suddenly be _there_ , all graceful suave and charm as he sweeps in, coaxing the Tems back from Sans and into a _“business conversation”_ , as he’d called it. After ten minutes he’d appeared again, a hand on Sans’s shoulder, leading him out and away.

 

“They’ll always have work for you, if you want it—a job for a favor and all that. And if you’re ever out on the forage again, they’ll still trade for your human goods. But there are no obligations, any outstanding debts are squared.”

 

“….Really? Just like that?”

 

“Of course. Tems are manipulative, skiving little beasts, but so long as a person does fair and right by them, at least in their minds, they’ll match it. They’ve taken a shine to you over the years, as far as I can tell. As much as Tems can, at least. You were smart about things, anyways, and mostly just stuck to trading. Not much of a debt there at all for them to claim. A bit of…insurance from me for whisking away their 'best asset' on such short notice and…well, they’re not going to come bothering you unless it’s a high-priority job, in which case I’d probably advise you to take it, if only to have that big favor from them tucked away for future security.”

 

“Huh. So…basically, you just bought me from them.”

 

“Basically, yes.”

 

“…Alright.”

 

And that was that.

 

After that, it's easy to fall into the world of the labs—an isolated, closed-off place from the rest of the Underground, where as long as he keeps up his one little lie, he can be himself without fear of discovery or the extreme need for caution he always feels out in the public of Snowdin. Here, he has safety for himself and Papyrus, kind monsters who he doesn’t need to fear, and a confidante in Gaster, the one other person who can understand.

 

And the more he works, the less time he has for the memories and the nightmares to haunt him. He keeps his promise to himself—he isn’t going to pretend it didn’t happen. He’d use this new opportunity to save the next human in honor of his sister. But the less time spent dwelling on the reversed timelines outside of the hypothetical and scientific, the better.

 

Remembering her screams and her blood every day and every minute is just…too much.

 

It takes a week and a half for Sans to realize this new form of isolation from the rest of the Underground isn’t going to work, when Grillby shows up in the labs his second Wednesday there, spinning in an office chair in the middle of Wind’s office and glaring at the ground furiously.

 

When Grillby sees him, the first thing he does is jump up, march over, and slap Sans squarely across the face.

 

After that, he hugs him.

 

Sans can’t see Grillby’s face, but the near-scalding hot blotches of liquid magma he feels against his shoulder bones through his coat clue him into the fact that his friend is crying.

 

It’s only as Sans hugs him back that it registers he’s avoided all contact with Grillby since that first day in the aftermath of the human’s death, near a month and a half ago.

 

“Sorry,” he whispers, remembering the thick black cloak and the small charm keychain, feeling Grillby’s grip on him tighten in response. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…” he mumbles, again and again, tracing the words in repetition onto Grillby’s back with his fingers as he feels tears leak out of his sockets and sizzle against the heat underneath Grillby’s clothing as they land.

 

Later, after the eternity that feels like no time at all of clinging to each other, as Grillby wanders around the labs and questions Gaster loudly about how safe everything is and what it is he wants from Sans, it’s Wind who sends him the wink from the half-clear lab bench she’s perched on, idly flipping through a manga volume.

 

“I’ve got a friend who lives down in Snowdin. She mentioned her gossip pal’s son was upset because his little skeleton friend hadn’t been around. I put two and two together, wasn’t that difficult.”

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and is astonished to realize how truly he means it.

 

After that, Sans slowly forces himself to go into Snowdin to visit the diner then and again, the mornings he chooses to go to the labs late or the evenings he comes back early, and Grillby visits twice each week, pulling Sans out from the absorbing mess of work that he and Gaster have fallen into and up to the break room for lunch or the main lab to have Sans show him what’s going on with the experiments.

 

He still doesn’t go much near the forest, when he does visit Snowdin, but he thinks he may be able to freely one day, perhaps, and he manages the streets, the diner. He goes, tries to get himself to stop seeing that first terrifying timeline each time, pushes it to the back of his mind and focuses on the present, the _now._ On the quiet chatter of the townspeople as they walk, and the loud gossip, and the smell of freshly fried food in the diner.

 

It’s not over, and it’s not fixed, and Sans knows a part of him will always hold onto the memories of what happened, as he should, but he learns to live. To be, if not the person he was before, then at least some semblance of that. He still sees her in everything, still wakes up screaming for her, but…it is…better. Not perfect, not even necessarily _good_ much of the time, but better.

 

Those moments where he gets the closest to good, to okay, to fine—those are found in the labs, surrounded by papers covered in scribbles and heaps of open books highlighted in ten different colors and with a million post-it notes sticking out of them. In Gaster’s crazy whiteboards covered in formulas, and growing piles of empty coffee mugs. Gaster is a whirlwind of a monster, consumed by curiosity and a need to understand, and Sans loses himself in his world.

 

At first, it’s just the basics, of sorts. Gaster teaches Sans his names for machines, what they do, how to take them apart and put them back together. Rose slips him textbooks and Alphys her old notes from school and when she first started, and he consumes them rapidly, reading late into the night on quantum physics and calculus and biochemistry underneath the light of the glowing crystal-studded cavern ceiling. Gaster picks his brain apart on the timelines, making him repeat his stories, his observations, his memories, over and over, looking for clues. He lines up whiteboards across the room and covers them in scribbles and equations with anime characters for variables, explaining to Sans in such a frenzy of words it eventually dissolves from Common, jumping across tongues and languages as Gaster struggles to find the math behind the magic.

 

Sans observes, he learns, he recounts, and over time, slowly, he starts to contribute.

 

Eventually, when Gaster yells explanations and theories to him in lost tongues and human dialects, he starts yelling back.

 

Gaster, as it becomes clear, is, as along with everything else, a language genius. Wingdings, his native tongue, he slips in and out of unconsciously, as might be expected, but also the language of the fire monsters, of the boss monsters, of the ghosts, and of human languages—Spanish, Italian, French, Latin. He speaks, as far as Sans can guesstimate, much more, perhaps most widespread human languages that existed before monsters were sealed Underground, but Gaster seems to favor the Romance languages, as he calls them.

 

Through this, Sans learns, subconsciously absorbing the words and patterns as he listens and struggles to understand. Italian, he finds, and French, are almost no problem at all, he falls into speaking them naturally within a few weeks with little thought, as if he’d spoken them in another life. Within two months, he picks up Wingdings fairly well—it’s necessary, to a certain extent, given Gaster often mixes his notes between Wingdings and Common without rhyme or reason. It is a tricky language of complex symbols and strange, melodious words that brush over Sans’s mind like images of the hand-like shapes their written letters are, but there is a certain calmness in it, a tranquil peace that is at odd ends with the monster who it belongs to.

 

When Sans first speaks it, on accident, arguing with Gaster over an equation for an error with the barrier-reading machine, Gaster blinks, pats his skull, suddenly and without explanation, as in a daze, and wanders off. Later, it is Rose who tells him quietly of how Gaster is the last survivor of his species of monster, that Wingdings only exists as a language here, in the labs, where his assistants have learned to speak it.

 

Sans remembers the memorial with the music box, the worn away markings of names in a dying language, and makes a point to learn Wingdings properly from then on.

 

It only takes a couple weeks for the work to overload Sans’s sense of time, his energy, and eventually he finds himself and Papyrus crashing on the sofa in the break room more nights than not. They still go home to the cave some days, but the lab is warm, the sofa is comfortable, its blankets soft, and there are no memories of black hair and laughter here to haunt him. The labs are safe. Sans isn’t sure whether the rest—Rose, Wind, Gamma, Ficus, hell, even Alphys, notice. After all, it’s not as if none of them don’t ever stay the night when working too late or to keep an eye on a delicate experiment overnight. But, those nights, Sans drags Papyrus downstairs, to the lumpy green couch in Gaster’s lab he insists is there solely to revolt visitors, and the small fold-out cot that had mysteriously appeared after the first time they spent the night down there, at least until he is sure they are asleep. Regardless, they don’t say a word, so he doesn’t either. This little lie—of parents, of homeschooling—protects him, protects Papyrus, and he will keep it as long as he can.

 

Gaster, of course, knows. How could he not, given despite, as he admitted to Sans, owning an apartment in the Capital, he spends, as far as Sans can tell, every night there in the labs, in the room he has set up as his own down on his private floor, right along with his own mini kitchen in the next.

 

But…Gaster has always known. Knew since he saw the cave, since he forged on two fake signatures to those forms, possibly knew even before then, when he first met Sans. But Gaster doesn’t ask questions he knows Sans won’t answer, lets well enough be and helps protect his secret, and in that trust is earned.

 

And so, slowly, Sans falls into this new life. He studies, he learns, he yells in new languages and throws pencils at Gaster as the other does the same in moments of disagreement over an equation or machine. He eats simple meals in Gaster’s kitchen with its dining table overflowing with manga and books, munches on the healthy snacks Rose leaves for them all in the break room fridge, shares chips and cookies with Wind from her secret stash in her desk drawer, and if money for food for the nights he and Papyrus spend back at the cave finds its way into his bag or coat pocket, money he knows definitely has its source in Gaster, he lets it be. A necessity, for Papyrus. He spends nights in the break room with its thick blankets and pillow-like cushions, and he goes home to the cave often enough—he sits on their bed, wraps himself in her blanket, hums her lullaby after Papyrus is asleep, and remembers, always. He takes Papyrus to Snowdin, to the diner. He talks to Ignis, to Grillby. He finds a home in this new pattern, in the walk between Hotland and Waterfall, the manga of the break room, the shy friendliness of Alphys, the laughter of Wind, the reprimands of Rose, the knowing smiles of Gamma, and the comfortable silence of Ficus.

 

He lives.

 

He wears the pendant, he never takes it off. He remembers her song, her dance, her color and her spirit. He does not forget, and he still sees her in everything.

 

But, he lives, and when it comes that he has spent four months in the labs and still sees her when he falls to help another, he picks himself back up and goes on, and that is enough.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The morning after the slime incident is surprisingly peaceful. The calm after the storm…if a slime gaining mobility and sending the entire staff on a chase for it qualifies as a storm, given Sans’s understanding is that this is a semi-regular thing, but…regardless.

 

Yes, regardless, it is quiet.

 

After the slime had been compromised—well, whacked over the top once solidly by Wind with the broom, which somehow had reverted it back to an immobile jelly mass on the floor—the post-slime-rampage clean up of moving the mass back to Gamma’s set up from where it had escaped, and wiping down the hall to get rid of its slimy trail residue, had caused late afternoon to slip into evening, and everyone, Alphys included after a quick call to her dad, had opted to just crash at the labs for the night.

 

For Sans, it was as simple as pulling out the human’s old phone…now his phone, he supposes, and faking a call to his "parents". This apparently gave Gaster the excuse to no longer be a silent and sneaky intervener, instead making a grand show about wheeling out the fold-out cot from his private lab up into the main lab and setting it up with a flourish, remarking loudly about how he only had the one, but surely the couch will be alright for just one night if they don’t want to share, won’t it, Sans?

 

When Sans was sure no one else was looking, he’d discretely poked Gaster in the side, giving him his most deadpan stare.

 

Gaster had simply winked cheerfully before offering him another pillow.

 

…Asshole.

 

A good asshole, though, he guesses.

 

…Did that even make sense?

 

Pausing in his movements, Sans shrugs, and continues on.

 

He’d woken up early, a habit still unbroken, though this is admittedly a little early even for him. And, with nothing else to do and being well aware no one else will be awake for another couple hours, had set about making breakfast. Muffins. Cinnamon-sugar muffins, to be specific. Wind had taught him how to make them last month, said he was a natural baker.

 

Sighing, he jumps slightly at the ding from the oven and leans down, opening it up and taking out the muffins, breathing in the smell of freshly baked pastry, before leaning up and placing them on the cooling rack. Slipping off the oven mitts and placing them on the edge of the counter, he leans back against the table and watches the steam waft from the muffins idly.

 

It is quiet.

 

Sans thinks of quiet mornings that…weren’t really mornings. Time is irrelevant when you can reverse it. He thinks of peace, of quiet conversations murmured while curled up amongst blankets and pillows and around each other in the small spaces where words get lost between each other and around fingers curled between one another, foreheads pressed together and breathing as one, sharing the same air and the same warmth and the same quiet, together.

 

It is quiet, but they are not lonely.

 

You can never be alone when you are always two.

 

Always two, always together, in the still and quiet.

 

Leaning up, Sans places a hand over one of the muffins, feeling the steam waft off it before deciding it’s likely now safe to touch. Plucking it out of the tray, he returns to his position against the table, studying the golden-brown top of the muffin before taking a bite, letting the sugary sweetness of cinnamon invade his senses. It's warm, but not too much so.

 

It’s good.

 

Funnily enough, he was never big on sweet stuff before. He didn’t mind it, certainly wouldn’t turn his nose up at it—food is food, after all—but it never really appealed to him. He always stocked up on cinnamon bunnies and sugary cookies for Papyrus, less than for himself. But the human? She loved them. Sweets were a delight to her, and cinnamon flavored things, like the cinnamon bunnies, her favorite. She’d even mentioned once or twice a pie the monster in the Ruins had made with cinnamon in it. How, if she could, she’d love to share one with Sans one day.

 

...Sans supposes sugary things have just become a habit for him now.

 

Taking another bite of the muffin, he wonders if the human would have liked these. They never had muffins, weren’t exactly practical food to keep stocked in a cave. He thinks she would have. The chewiness, the cinnamon, the sweet aftertaste, are all things she would have enjoyed.

 

Hearing the quiet noise of slippers against the floor, Sans turns around as Rose shuffles into the room, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a shirt slightly too wide for her slimmer frame that Sans guesses is likely Wind’s, eyes barely open and yawning tiredly into her hand.

 

“Morning,” he murmurs quietly, watching her slowly properly enter the kitchen. “I made muffins.”

 

Glancing blearily at him, she whines petulantly. “Coffeeee…”

 

“‘S on the stove,” he says, nodding towards the pitcher of coffee resting there, spare mugs left out on the counter next to it in preparation. Stumbling over to the coffee pot, Rose fumbles for one of the mugs, positioning it beneath the coffee pot and pouring, before frowning down into her cup and turning to Sans. “Sans, this pot’s near empty.”

 

He shrugs, idly grabbing his own mug resting on the table and sipping from it, letting the instant rush of the caffeine absorb into his system.

 

Rose just sighs, looking down at her mug mournfully before downing it in one go and starting on a fresh pot. “You’re too young for a coffee addiction.”

 

“Gaster says he started younger.”

 

“And Gaster…!” Rose says loudly, whirling around before collapsing against the counter. “Is not an example to follow! Ever! About anything!”

 

“Wha‘s all the yellin for…?” comes Wind’s slurred voice, Sans glancing back to see her stumble into the room, dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and some anime t-shirt, before slumping into the closest chair at the table. “Wha’s wrong, babe?”

 

Rose sighs, poking half-heartedly at the coffee pot as if in hopes of making it brew faster. “Nothing, love. Everything’s fine. Mostly. Just…waiting for coffee.”

 

Wind’s only response is a light snore from where her head has flopped into her arms on the table, and Sans giggles, pushing his still half-full mug towards Wind, who darts up and downs it instantly before collapsing back against the table.

 

Grinning, Sans slides his cup back to him and peers down into it, whistling softly. “Not even a drop. You must be desperate, Wind.” He receives a singular light groan in reply, and at the sound of yet more footsteps, he looks up as Ficus sweeps into the kitchen, already dressed in a light cream blouse with long, collared sleeves that hug their thin wrists, and a long, deep red skirt that swishes with each step.

 

“Good morning, Ficus.” Ficus nods slightly at him, a small, affectionate smile playing at their lips, before turning to the cabinet above the oven, rummaging through before retrieving their box of herbal tea, flicking on the kettle to boil and placing the box next to it.

 

“There’s muffins,” Sans says, and Ficus’s smile widens slightly, reaching for one, just as something slams into the table with a crash, sending Sans near crashing to the floor with a yelp, saved only by Ficus’s arms wrapped quickly around his chest, catching him just before he hits the floor. Scrambling to a stand, he finds Alphys half-collapsed into the table across from him, face buried against the wood.

 

A singular whine echoes from her, nonverbal yet clear in its plea, and Rose sighs. “It’s nearly ready, one second.” Pouring two fresh mugs full from the coffee pot, she lifts them and places them on the table, Wind instantly up and practically inhaling hers, while Alphys gropes vaguely at her mug before catching hold and dragging it towards her slowly.

 

Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Sans turns back to see Ficus offering him a cup of tea, accepting it with a grateful smile and cradling it close to his chest, enjoying the warmth from the cup as it seeps into his bones.

 

“I don’t know how you two drink that,” Rose murmurs, scrunching up her snout. “It’s so gross. And pointless.”

 

Sans shrugs. “It’s not quite the caffeine rush of coffee, no, but it’s still nice. I like both.”

 

“Each to their own, I suppose,” Rose says, rolling her eyes, and pouring coffee into a large mug before picking it up and taking a long sip. “I, however, need my coffee.”

 

Hearing a pointed sigh, Sans glances up to spot Gamma, already dressed in jeans and a sweater, leaning against the door, awkwardly holding a still mostly-asleep Papyrus. “This is yours, yes?” Sans blinks, unsure for a moment if they’re talking to him or Wind, who has finished downing her first cup of coffee and is onto her second. Shrugging slightly, he reaches out for Papyrus, but Gamma simply shakes their head slightly, resettling Papyrus on their hip and walking over to where Ficus is pouring another cup of tea, pointedly kicking Wind’s chair and jostling her cup of coffee as they go.

 

Wind barely moves, too busy gulping down the last of her coffee before slamming down the mug with a loud thump, eyes blown wide from what Sans can only assume is the sudden rush of caffeine. “Right! I’m up. Did someone say something about muffins?”

 

Sans snorts, picking up the now cool tray and placing it on the table. “Yes. Cinnamon-sugar.”

 

“Aces,” Wind says happily, picking up a muffin and biting into it, leaning back and kicking her feet, complete with bunny slippers, up onto the table with a disapproving look from Rose and Gamma as she chews. “Where’s the boss?”

 

“Probably still downstairs,” Rose grumbles, reaching down and pushing Wind’s feet off the table and grabbing a muffin. “Knowing him he’s probably forgotten the rest of us are still here and has gotten caught up in some experiment and will forget to eat until someone reminds him.” Meeting silence, Rose looks up from her cup of coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Was I not direct enough?”

 

“ _I_ am holding the child,” Gamma says pointedly, and Ficus simply shrugs, lifting their cup of tea and taking a sip.

 

Rose sighs, turning to Wind, who stiffens and swallows her mouthful of muffin. “Now, babe? I’m eating!”

 

Sans grins, throwing back the last dregs of his tea and straightening up. “I’ll do it. I already ate, anyways.” Saluting vaguely at Rose, he turns and walks out of the kitchen, through the break room, and into the hall, sticking his hands into his coat pockets as he idly gazes at the overhead lights. He has a lab coat now, just as everyone else, though he often forgets his down in Gaster’s lab, and still prefers to keep his old blue one on regardless. Wind had found it hilarious when she first saw him wearing his lab coat overtop his other one, dubbing him the mini-Gaster in honor of Gaster’s doing the same thing.

 

Well, at least his coat isn’t some dramatic long black thing with a wide, fancy collar. That is strictly a Gaster thing. Eccentric—that would be the appropriate word, he thinks.

 

“H-hey! Sans! Wait up!”

 

Hearing Alphys’s voice, he stops just as she comes screeching to a stop beside him, panting for breath for a moment before straightening up with an awkward smile. “I’ll go with you? I left some blueprints down in Gaster’s workroom I need to get anyways, so, um…”

 

Sans smiles slightly, nudging her shoulder with his own. “It’s fine, Alphys.”

 

Alphys nods hesitantly, smiling back and opening her mouth as if to say something else, when the sound of her phone buzzing echoes from her lab coat pocket, and in an instant she has her phone out, reading a text and giggling slightly, cheeks pink, before texting back frantically.

 

“Who’s the lucky suitor?” Sans says teasingly, grinning in victory when Alphys’s face flushes darkly.

 

“It’s not like that, jerk,” she says, punching his shoulder lightly and turning back to her phone. “She’s just a new friend I met at the garbage dump last week, she’s really nice.”

 

Sans squints, side-eyeing Alphys. “You meet new friends at the _garbage dump_? You do know that place is rubbish for any decent human goods, right?”

 

“ _Anyways_ ,” Alphys says loudly, pointedly ignoring him, “she and I are planning to hang out this afternoon, and we’re just arranging where to meet and stuff.” She pauses, considering, and then grins, her face lighting up in excitement and turning to Sans. “Hey! You should come too!”

 

“Me? I know you’re pretty chill about stuff, Alph', but aren’t I a bit er… _young_ for you and your cool hip teenage friends?”

 

“No, c’mon!” Alphys whines. “It’ll be fun! She’s really energetic, I think you two would get along well! Plu,s um…” She glances down, fidgeting awkwardly. “I’m a little nervous? She’s really cool and I just…would feel better having you there, for emotional support or something, I guess.”

 

Sans sighs dramatically, lifting a hand to his chest with intentional theatrics in the movement. “Alright, _fine_ , but you owe me! A debt of blood, you hear me?! A debt of blood!”

 

Alphys giggles, leaning out and entering the code to Gaster’s elevator as they reach the end of the hall. “Yes, yes, Mr. Dramatic.”

 

“Mr. Dramatic?” Sans says, grinning, as they step into the elevator. “Hardly. That’s Gaster.”

 

Alphys snorts. “True.”

 

After a moment of silence, Alphys glances at Sans, quirking an eyebrow. “Are there _really_ better places for human stuff than the garbage dump?”

 

Sans stares at her in astonishment. “Of course! Are you kidding me? The garbage dump’s a waste of time! There are _much_ better places hidden in Waterfall to find stuff.” He pauses, considering. “…I could show you some time, eventually, if you want?”

 

Alphys grins. “Alright, I’d like that. Garbage diving with my science friend.”

 

Sans blinks, watching her for a moment as she turns back to her phone, firing off another text message.

 

Alphys. With her sequin covered boots and bright pink bows and unicorn notebooks and glitter pens.

 

His friend.

 

Huh.

 

Who’d have thought?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Or! Check out the [official Not As Simple content blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/), for all things Not As Simple!


	15. Little Miss Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …Undyne.
> 
>  
> 
> She storms toward them, all righteous fury and military pomp. Long, loose hair flying behind her like the bloody cape of a bloodlust-drunk knight, her neatly buttoned shirt, thick and well-fitted black canvas pants, and heavy combat boots doing nothing to discourage the image of a guard here to lay waste to the usurper of her order. Namely, in this case, Sans.
> 
>    
> …And Alphys, he supposes.
> 
>    
> …Wait did this mean Alphys has a crush on _fish face_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello!! Here's the new chapter!! Sorry it took so long, I was at a convention up in Vancouver for a long weekend (if anyone was there I was the Frisk with the flower crown and staff), and then on vacation for ten days. But, finally, here it is, the update!
> 
> Before we begin, there's a ton of amazing new fanart for y'all to check out!!
> 
> First up, we have a slew of absolutely _gorgeous_ fanart and fan comics (aaaaa comics!!!) from Goosygander!!! Check out their first set of sketches [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148487387538/pastel-clark-aha-so-i-have-kind-of-been), their second set [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148554898048/pastel-clark-oh-hai-welp-heres-moar-i-gotta), their incredible comic of Integrity's death scene [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148564096338/pastel-clark-heehee-i-spent-all-afternoon-on), and their beautiful depiction of Sans and Integrity's Run 12 [here!!!](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/149539059673/pastel-clark-goosygander-pastel-clark)
> 
> We also have super adorable art of Integrity and Sans by screaming-ugly [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148568479373/pastel-clark-i-was-reading-your-comic-and-i), super cute multi-au fanart Not As Simple was included in by blaiddraws [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/149188953428/pastel-clark-blaiddraws-okay-so-i-drew-this), this hilarious and cute as heck comic of Rose, Wind, and Gaster by celestialfeathers [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/149251941598/pastel-clark-i-made-a-comic-i-actually-like), spectacularly beautiful art of Sans and Integrity by twin-ace [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/149392009458/pastel-clark-twin-ace-so-i-finally-after), and super cute art of my Justice child (who hasn't even premiered in Not As Simple yet), by gdonly [here!!](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/149577405268/pastel-clark-gdonly-justice-fanart-for)  
> (Oh, and there's also the gorgeous commission of Integrity I got done at the con I attended [here.](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/148610961613/pastel-clark-super-lovely-commission-of))
> 
> Thank you all so much for the fanart, it means so much to me!! (As do all the comment and kudos I've been receiving, of course!!)
> 
> Anyways, without further wait, here's the chapter: 
> 
> (Warning for attempted suicide here)

Sans finds Gaster—or more specifically, Gaster’s legs, his head and torso buried in the belly of a half-dismantled machine—in one of his smaller workrooms, the one generally used mostly for storage of old machines and spare parts Gaster wants close by, Alphys already long departed with her blueprints she’d found sitting on a table in the main workroom.

 

Coughing pointedly to announce his presence, Sans winces as Gaster shoots up with a bang. A loud, muffled curse echoes out from the machine before he emerges, rubbing his head and glaring at the air before his eyes settle on Sans and widen, expression brightening. “Oh, Sans! Good! I was just about to call you, come take a look at this!”

 

Chuckling slightly, Sans walks over to where Gaster’s standing, pausing to grab his lab coat from where he left it hanging on a box of tools last night, pulling it on and sticking his hands in the pockets. “Uh, actually breakfast and stuff is ready upstairs if you want…”

 

Ignoring him, Gaster grabs at Sans’s coat hem, tugging him down with a yelp to where he is crouched. Tapping a small, cylindrical piece of metal inside the machine with the wrench in his hand, Gaster grins. “Feast your eyes on that.”

 

Sans blinks, doing his equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Impressive…what am I looking at?”

 

Gaster sighs, slumping dramatically, and gestures at the cylinder. “This is an echolocational vibrancy frequenter, a product of my own design.”

 

Sans frowns, considering. “Alright. What’s it do?”

 

Gaster pauses, pursing his lips in thought. “I’m not sure the best way to explain it. How much do you know about a type of surface creature called bats?”

 

“A little?” Sans shrugs. “They’re uh…nocturnal, right? Mammals. That’s about all I’ve ever read on them.”

 

Gaster nods, flipping his wrench between his fingers hurriedly. “Yes, they are, but there’s quite a bit more to them than that. Bats, along with several other animals, use a marvelous little product of evolution called echolocation. Ever heard of it?” Sans shakes his head, and Gaster grins. “Basically, they emit long-range sound waves, which travel around the area, bounce off the nearest obstacle, and come back to them. In this way they are able to map out and navigate their entire travel path without needing to see. They just listen to those sound waves.”

 

“That’s pretty clever,” Sans mumbles, turning his attention back to the small cylinder critically. “So what’s this got to do with it?”

 

“Ah! This is a modified version of that same concept. It emits rapid patterns of sound waves, at such a frequency they are undetectable to most monsters all together, and using that it can map the area around it. It can pick up the slightest infrequencies in a surface. I originally designed it for when I inherited the labs, as a fast way to check for structural damage after years of…negligence by my former mentor. Unfortunately, after using it, I built it into an old project I eventually abandoned unfinished, and I…misplaced the blueprints. But! Now that I’ve _finally_ located it, we can put it to work!”

 

Sans fidgets with his lab coat sleeve, glancing up at the ceiling. “…Checking for structural damage…?”

 

“What?” Gaster frowns, waving a hand dismissively. “No, of course not. No, we’re going to find a way to amplify this and put it to work on a more…extensive project.”

 

“You…” Sans pauses in thought, the glimmer of an idea catching alight in the back of his mind. “You want to map the barrier with it.”

 

“Precisely!” Gaster says. “I’ve done plenty of research on the barrier before, but never found an efficient way to measure it for weak spots and inconsistencies in the density and shape—both for its vastness and the fact it’s...well, it’s more magic than a physical barrier. But I believe this might give us a way to do it. Imagine! A complete and accurate map of the barrier in its entirety.”

 

“That’d be. Helpful,” Sans says begrudgingly, though he can feel a grin forming on his face.

 

“Indeed it would. Now, if I could only figure out a way to get it out…” Gaster grumbles, turning his attention back to the cylinder and poking it with his wrench. “Little fucker’s stuck on there tight.”

 

Sans squishes in next to Gaster, peering at the inner workings of the machine. “…I might be able to get it out? Is. Um. Is anything else in here important?”

 

Gaster snorts, waving a hand. “God no, it’s so outdated at this point it’s basically just scrap metal. The only thing of worth in there is the vibrancy frequenter.”

 

Sans nods hesitantly. “Alright. Then maybe I can…” Concentrating on the cylinder, Sans feels it out with his magic, surrounding it in blue that trickles down to its base. Once he’s sure he’s found a spot below the base of the cylinder that can be snapped off without damaging it, Sans focuses his magic there, digging it into the metal and pulling the cylinder up. Shaking slightly at the strain, Sans sighs in relief and collapses backwards as the cylinder disconnects with a pop, flying out into Gaster’s waiting hands, expression delighted as he cradles it to his chest.

 

“Excellent job, Sans! Come on then, let’s get a scan on this baby!” Gaster jumps up, efficiently picking his way across the clear spots between boxes on the floor and to the door, disappearing around the corner with an excited whoop. Laughing, Sans pushes himself up into a sitting position, idly watching the spot where Gaster just disappeared, before wobbling up to his feet and tottering out after Gaster and into the active workroom of sorts, where Gaster is already busy at work setting up his 3D blueprint scanner.

 

“Oh, by the way, Alphys wants me to take the afternoon off to go meet her new friend with her. ‘S that okay?”

 

“What?” Gaster glances up, blinking. “Yes, of course. Go. Meet other children, make friends, have fun. Now come here I need your help with this wire.”

 

Sans grins, offering a mock salute as he trots over. “Yes sir.”

 

 

xxx

 

  

Sans meets Alphys in the main upstairs workroom later that afternoon, hands shoved in his lab coat pockets, and vaguely conscious of the fact he smells strongly like chemicals and smoke.

 

Well. Not that he thinks Alphys would object. She often smells the same, hazard of hanging around in a lab all day, but he isn’t exactly sure how scientifically-inclined Alphys’s crush is, and she might be put off by it.

 

…At least there aren’t any burn marks on his lab coat this time.

 

Alphys brightens up upon seeing Sans, stopping her idle spinning on one of the revolving stools and grinning. “Hey! How’d work with Doctor Gaster go?”

 

Sans shrugs. “Good. Only had one unexpected fire today.”

 

Alphys snickers, jumping down off the stool, brushing out her skirt and straightening her hair bow. “Ready to go? Don’t wanna be late.”

 

“Course," Sans says, following her out the door and through Wind’s currently vacant office. “Where are we meeting your mystery girl, anyways?”

 

“Oh! In the main castle courtyard, just through the entrance gates. She lives in the castle, I think, and since I already work under it anyways, we figured that was the easiest spot for both of us. Plus, the courtyard’s really pretty. King Asgore tends to the bushes himself.”

 

Sans blinks, shifting uncomfortably. “She…lives in the castle?”

 

“Yeah?” Alphys says, glancing over her shoulder in confusion. “A lot of people do. As King Asgore says, the castle’s so huge—what’s he gonna do with all that space? Some officials, head guards, Asgore’s regular assistant staff, that type of thing, live here with their families.”

 

“….Oh.” Sans mumbles, relaxing slightly. “That…makes sense. So what do her parents do in the castle then?”

 

Alphys shrugs, leaning forward and hitting the button for the elevator as they reach the end of the entry hallway. “Dunno. I didn’t ask. She seemed a little…bashful, I guess, about living in the castle, and I’d just met her. I didn’t want to pry.”

 

“Sureeee you didn’t.” Sans grins, shoving Alphys lightly with an elbow. Turning pink, Alphys turns and shoves Sans backwards into the elevator, with a surprised laugh from him, before stepping in herself and hitting the up button.

 

“If you embarrass me in front of her, I swear I’ll…I’ll….”

 

“Ok, ok,” Sans says easily, holding up his hands. “I’ll be cool.”

 

Alphys sighs. “Thank you.”

 

“…You do obviously have a thing for her though.”

 

“ _Sans!”_

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans can’t help but whistle in impressment when he gets his first look at the castle courtyard, following Alphys in through an old stone arch off the path from the gate. While the Underground doesn’t contain as much plant life like that of the surface, barring the patches of golden flowers dotted here and there, there is still a variety of plants to be found in the Underground, and that fact has clearly been put to its maximum potential here. Dark green bushes and small pine trees from Snowdin forest dotted the perimeter of the courtyard, forming a green barrier to close off the courtyard from the other outer edges of the castle and give it a secluded feel, and interspersed with those were a wild array of smaller plants, including echo flowers, the green vines present in parts of the Underground, here tamed to grow around small statues and stakes, and the ever-present golden flowers.

 

Sans would not describe himself as a flower enthusiast per say, but even he can appreciate such a beautiful garden, and that is definitely the word for this: beautiful.

 

“Good God,” he mutters quietly, reaching out to touch the edge of the closest flower.

 

"I know, right?” Alphys says over her shoulder with a smug grin. “I told you it was impressive. This was one of the first things the old royal family had built into the New Home castle grounds, one of Asgore’s personal projects. I think they wanted to offer a garden like one could find on the surface, for all the homesick monsters.”

 

“It’s incredible,” Sans murmurs, eyes falling on a small fountain interspersed with ivy, a quiet stream of water gushing from the top and running down little bowls into the basin below. “We should bring Papyrus here sometime, he’d love it.”

 

Alphys laughs, reaching out and nudging him. “I can’t believe you’ve never been! It’s a staple outing spot for the monsters of New Home, especially given it’s open to the public year-round.”

 

Sans shrugs, glancing away. “We’re…Waterfall people. Don’t spend a lot of time in New Home.”

 

Alphys giggles, plucking a small flower off a bush and tucking it behind one of the smaller ridges on her head, like another monster would their hair. “I can’t imagine living in such a quiet place. I think I’d get so bored.”

 

He smirks. “You’re a real city girl, huh?”

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.”

 

“Hey, Alphys!”

 

From across the courtyard, at the other entrance connected to the inner castle, comes a loud, almost aggressive voice, and Sans flinches involuntarily at the rough familiarity of it, eye sockets widening as a thin, gangly figure with a shock of bright red hair rounds the corner. He shivers as ruby eyes meet his, widening and sparking in furious recognition.

 

“ _You!”_

“You…” he whispers, taking a step back.

 

…Undyne.

 

She storms toward them, all righteous fury and military pomp. Long, loose hair flying behind her like the bloody cape of a bloodlust-drunk knight, her neatly buttoned shirt, thick and well-fitted black canvas pants, and heavy combat boots doing nothing to discourage the image of a guard here to lay waste to the usurper of her order. Namely, in this case, Sans.

 

…And Alphys, he supposes.

 

…Wait did this mean Alphys has a crush on _fish face_?

 

For a brief moment, Sans contemplates the benefits of just glitching himself out and back to the labs right this second, damn the consequences or risks of getting himself stuck in some nonexistent void of space, if only to hopefully avoid the inevitable confrontation about to happen.

 

But then she is there right in front of him, jutting forward until her face is inches from his, eyes still boring into him as spit flies from her mouth in an angry scream.

 

“What is _he_ doing here?!”

 

“…A-Alphys invited me,” he mumbles, stumbling over his words in his shock and growing apprehension. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“Alphys invited _me_!” Undyne’s eyes fly to Alphys, the anger in them just barely softening. “You know this punk?!”

 

Alphys winces, hands coming up to fiddle with one another, tangling in the collar of her lab coat desperately. Sans wants to yell at Undyne that this is a nervous habit for Alphys—she’s upsetting her can’t she _see—_ but he is frozen, voice trapped inside his throat, and he can only watch. “…Y-yes. Well. W-we work…together?”

 

Undyne’s face swivels back to Sans, eyes narrowing as she takes a step back. “So you’re also working for Doctor Dingbat? Figures you’d end up hanging around him—all the guards say he’s loonier than a Temmie on a hotshot of catnip. Of course he’d want the other freaks hanging around with him.” Sans bristles, one word away from forgoing niceties for the sake of Alphys and just punching the bitch in the face, but she’s already gone, at Alphys’s side, grabbing her arm and looking back at him with a scowl. “Have you heard about him, Alphys? The enemy of everyone’s hopes and dreams?! Do you know what he _is?"_

 

Alphys is pale, looking close to tears, and inside Sans can feel something close to shattering,

 

“Shut up,” he forces out, gritting his teeth as he feels his hands curl into fists, crackles of magic dancing down them and between his fingers. “Just _shut up_.”

 

Undyne’s eyes are wide with angry excitement, her body tense as if waiting for the blow Sans can feel building, desperately trying to push it down because _she’s not worth it she doesn’t understand how could she_.

 

“He!” Undyne cries triumphantly, voice cracking. “Is nothing more than a dirty, traitorous, human-loving _freak_! Who chose to fight and betray his own kind over one filthy, miserable, _disgusting_ , rotten to the soul _human!_ ”

 

Deep within, the hammer taps its last blow, and Sans breaks.

 

He flies at her, screaming as he slams her into the ground with a panicked shout from Undyne and landing on top of her, raining down with a disjointed flurry of punches and pulls and slaps to her hair, her face, her gills. **“Don’t you talk about her that way!”**

In the distant background, Sans can hear Alphys screaming in horror, but he can’t stop, won’t stop. Undyne can insult his past, his choices, hell, even _Gaster,_ but she will _not_ insult the human, his sister, his friend, the missing part of his soul that aches every day, every moment, for its loss. Not  _ever_.

 

Spitting out blood, Undyne rears back, ramming her feet into Sans’s sternum and sending him flying back off of her. Crashing into the fountain next to them, Sans screeches in pain, stumbling down to the ground, vision blurry. Glancing up, he faintly sees Undyne’s vague outline as she stalks toward him, skin smattered with blood and bruises and her angry grin shining bright as twin electric blue spears materialize in her hands.

 

Eyes widening, Sans rolls and slams up a shield of bones in front of him, the structure shuddering and cracking as Undyne’s spears slam into it. Grabbing Undyne’s soul in his magic, Sans sweeps his hand and sends her flying into the nearest tree, shivering in satisfaction when he hears the loud crack of the branch she lands against. Taking ahold of her soul once more, Sans sends her to the next tree, and then back, and finally into a bush, relishing in her terrified screams.

 

“You scared now? How do you think she felt?! An army of soldiers against one scared little girl! How is that _fair?!_ How is that _just?!_ You’re pigs and murderers, all of you!”

 

“Sans! Stop, please!” As Sans goes to call his magic again, Alphys shoots in front of him, arms out and trembling. “Look, I-I don’t know what’s going on but you two are going to kill each other fighting like this! Can’t you just try talking?”

 

For a moment, Sans hesitates. Staring into Alphys’s watery eyes and her frightened, defensive, yet determined position, he feels shame start to bloom. He picked an unnecessary fight. He hurt someone. He _enjoyed_ it.  He’s still enjoying it.

 

For a single moment, Sans feels the beginnings of remorse.

 

…And then Undyne slams into him.

 

Crashing into the ground with a pained gasp, Sans feels Undyne’s significantly heavier weight collide into him, their combined momentum enough to send them rolling across the ground, a new flurry of screams and punches and kicks taking place as Sans fends off Undyne’s attacks, giving into anger and lashing out in return.

 

As they roll to a stop, Sans looks up as Undyne rears up on top of him, fist raised. For an instant, her image flickers, and Sans sees a guard, _the_ guard, the guard who took _her_ from him, above him, poised to strike.

 

Screaming, in fear, in rage, in hate, Sans throws all his weight up, shoving the guard off him and reversing their positions. The mirage shivers, and Sans sees Undyne, eyes blown wide in surprise, beneath him, and yet the anger continues.

 

It’s still an enemy.

 

An enemy who seeks to take his world from him again.

 

Calling to his magic, Sans feels it come to him, rush his bones and flood his senses, crackling down his fingertips and filling his eye with electric blue. A bone shard, razor sharp, forms in his hand, and Sans lifts it high, hysterical giggles escaping as he feels tears slip down his cheeks.

 

One hit, into the forehead, and she’ll be gone, and he’ll be safe.

 

Or maybe he should stab her in the eye.

 

Or slit her throat.

 

Yes, she should learn suffer like he did, like the human did.

 

His grip tightens on the shard, prepares to swing down.

 

“Sans, no!”

 

He freezes.

 

He knows that voice. Knows it better than perhaps he will any other, even his own.

 

He looks up.

 

The human is there, sweater frayed and smeared with mud and bloodstains, hair a black mess, and one dark eye watching him from in-between the messy strands, filled with tears.

 

“Please, no. We promised, remember? Self-defense only. We don’t kill people, even if it means repeating ourselves. We _never_ kill people.”

 

Sans freezes, can feel Undyne and her panicked breathing beneath him, the grass under his knees, and the bone shard in his hand. This, _she_ , isn’t real. She’s just another hallucination here to haunt him as they do every night the moment he closes his eyes.

 

But still, he hesitates, and he hopes.

 

“You’re better than this, Sans. She’s not worth it, please, she doesn’t understand. Don’t hurt her. We’ll get it right next time.”

 

He watches the human as she offers out a hand to him, smile nervous and face teary, spare hand reaching up to brush futilely at her hair as she always has. “Let’s go home, Sans.”

 

Sans feels his grip on the bone shard loosen.

 

“K—“

 

With the force of an out of control car, something large and incredibly heavy smashes into Sans, choking off his half-formed, feeble attempt to reach for a name as he screams, flying off Undyne and crashing into the ground a good ten feet away, desperately cradling his head in hopes of protecting it as he feels gravel and rock cut into his hands and forearms as he skids along. Coming to a jolted stop as he slams into a large rock, Sans gasps in pain, curling up on himself, before the sound of heavy footsteps behind him forces him to push himself up on his arms and look up.

 

Looming above, tall and ominous in the shadows that cling to his face, Asgore stands where Sans was moments ago, one large hand reaching down and helping Undyne to her feet with a concerned expression.

 

“Undyne…”

 

Undyne sobs, hugging Asgore’s waist to the best of her ability before darting behind him, peering out over his side at Sans with frightened but vengeful eyes. Turning, Sans watches as Asgore spots him, looking over him properly and eyes widening in recognition.

 

“I-It’s him!” Undyne spits out. “The boy who helped the human! He tried to—he tried to _kill me_!”

 

Sans blinks, opening his mouth to deny it, to say she _provoked_ him with her horrid words and vicious lies about someone she knew nothing about, but before he gets the chance, Asgore is there, expression grim, as he raises the massive trident in his hands once again, and so Sans does the only thing he can.

 

He gets the fuck out of the way.

 

Rolling left as Asgore’s trident slams into the dirt behind him, Sans jumps to his feet, summoning his magic and feeling it blaze to life, blue sparks crackling down his body. He can feel himself close to the edge, magic threatening to overpower him, but he can’t risk holding back. If he could barely keep up with Undyne, he’s going to need everything he’s got to survive Asgore.

 

As Asgore advances, Sans lets the magic pull him into the nothingness, glitching out and behind Asgore. Reaching out, he grabs Asgore’s soul, swinging him into the nearest tree with a screaming crash. It’s not quite the force Sans had hoped, but given Asgore’s massive size and magical hold, especially following the energy Sans just exerted fighting Undyne, it’s a miracle Sans manage to even throw him that far, and he can already feel his breath coming in short gasps from the exertion.

 

Glancing up, vision blurry, Sans winces as he sees Asgore climb back to his feet with barely a stumble, already moving forward once more. Screaming, he tethers Asgore’s soul in place the best he can, letting loose a wave of bones and crackling, formless energy, straight at Asgore. Asgore stumbles, falls to his knees under the assault, and for a moment Sans thinks he might just have this, and then a flash of pain shoots up his side as a bright blue spear shoots into the ground beside him, and Sans crumples, clutching his side as he lets out a silent screech of agony.

 

Sans has faced the spears of the guards time and time again, but never like this.

 

No, this _burns_. Burns like poison eating through his marrow.

 

 _Undyne_. How could he have forgotten about Undyne? God, he’s so _stupid_.

 

Forcing himself to look up, Sans feels tears spill over his cheeks once more and a cry catch in his chest as flames erupt around him, Asgore’s massive form in front of him as he lifts his trident and positions it above Sans’s head.

 

Sobbing, Sans forces his eyes shut, curling in on himself.

 

He doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want to die _alone_.

 

He wants the human, more than anything in the world, here with him right now, in his final moments.

 

Sans tenses, and waits for the blow.

 

…And yet it doesn’t come.

 

Instead, he hears a loud, familiar bark, and a screech of pain, and hesitantly opens his eyes to see Asgore stumbling back, a growling Toby latched onto his leg. Blinking in surprise, Sans’s sight of the strange scene is taken over as a large figure slams into the ground in front of him, long tail flicking and wings spread wide, light dancing off light blue curls and twitching ears.

 

“Wind,” Sans chokes out, and she turns, shooting him a wink with a quick smile, before whirling back as Asgore lashes out blindly with his trident. Wings shooting over her head, Sans watches in amazement as an ice-like white-blue magic encases the feathers, sending the trident ricocheting off upon contact. Taking advantage of Asgore’s temporary unbalance from the blocked hit, Wind twists, ratty sneaker coming up and slamming into Asgore’s chest, knocking him back and onto the ground.

 

Asgore slowly pushes himself up onto his elbows, staring up at Wind with a dazed expression. “Cadet Cumulus.”

 

Wind scowls, turning and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “Cadet Cumulus is dead.”

 

_“Sans!!”_

Sans startles, turning towards the sound of safety, of protection. “…Gaster?”

 

Long, familiar arms sweep him up and off the ground, setting him on his feet and taking hold of his shoulders. Gaster’s face is taut in panic, eyes wild as he quickly runs his hands over Sans’s face, checking for injuries. “Are you alright?!”

 

Trembling, Sans nods, before something breaks inside and he slams forward, curling his hands in the dark fabric of Gaster’s coat and burying his face in it, sobs falling out of his chest, his mouth, and muffled into the fabric, shoulders shaking as he feels a gentle hand pet his skull. “Shhh, Sans. It’s alright. I’m here now. We’re here.”

 

“Gaster.”

 

Screaming, Sans ducks behind Gaster, clinging to his coat and fearfully peering out from around it at Asgore, now on his feet and standing before them. Next to them, Wind tenses, hands curling into fists, and Gaster tiredly waves a hand in dismissal at her, before turning to Asgore.

 

“…Asgore.”

 

“This boy…” Asgore shifts uncomfortably. “He is with you?”

 

“Yes, he is.” Sans feels a protective hand come to rest on his shoulder. “I’m sure you remember Sans. He’s my newest assistant.” Hearing footsteps, Sans glances back to see Rose, Ficus, and Gamma, carrying a sleeping Papyrus, come to a stop just behind them, Alphys’s trembling form hidden behind Rose. “He works with my staff, and is being trained by me personally.”

 

Asgore’s face darkens. “I…wasn’t aware you’d taken on…Sans as a part of your…” He hesitates, eyes roaming over Rose, Ficus, Gamma, and finally Wind’s faces. “Staff.”

 

Gaster sniffs. “I’m under no obligation to alert you to my changes in staff. All my employees are paid out of the budget allotted the labs and myself as a whole. It has no effect on you.”

 

“No, no, I know. I just…” Asgore hesitates, looking down at Sans cautiously. “…He’s very dangerous.”

 

Gaster’s eyes widen, and then narrow, voice a hiss. “Oh, and you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you? How dangerous fucking _children_ really are. Soooo dangerous. Vicious, murdering creatures. Oh wait!” He blinks, looking at Asgore coolly. “That’s you.”

 

Turning, Gaster scoops Sans up, settling him against his chest as Sans hesitantly wraps his arms around Gaster’s neck. “C’mon Sans, we’re going.” Beginning to walk away, Gaster screeches to a stop as Asgore’s voice rings out once more.

 

“He shouldn’t be here, Wingdings! I’m only trying to help—“

 

Whirling around, Gaster stalks back to Asgore, jamming a finger into his chest and snarling. “ _Sans_ can do whatever he likes! And so can I! You stay the fuck out of this and out of our lives! You’ve destroyed enough good things already! I won’t let you touch this! And as for _you,_ young lady,” Gaster turns to Undyne, eyes dark with fury, “I don’t know why our Alphys has taken an interest in you, but if you ever want to be _near_ my labs to spend time with her, you must first learn some manners, starting with the fact that _not everyone has to agree with your narrow, selfish worldview_.” Stepping back, Gaster levels his gaze at Asgore once more. “Make any sort of complaint about this incident, and you’ll be sorry. You don’t want the whole Underground knowing you were prepared to kill a child—excuse me, a _monster_ child, would you?”

 

With that, Gaster leaves, walking briskly down the path and out of the courtyard, followed not two steps behind by the rest of the lab staff. Curling his arms closer around Gaster’s neck, Sans rests his head tiredly on the other monster’s shoulder, feeling a couple tears slip loose and onto the dark fabric of Gaster’s coat. “…Thank you.”

 

Gaster says nothing, only tightening his hold on Sans, and he sighs in relief, feeling the tension slowly leave his body as adrenaline runs out and exhaustion kicks in.

 

“I-I’m so s-sorry Sans!” Looking down, Sans blinks in surprise at a tearful Alphys peering up at him. “I-I should have h-helped you! Instead I j-just…panicked! I managed to call R-Rose but I should have stepped in myself too!”

 

Sans smiles the best he can at his friend. “It’s fine, Alphys. You got help, thank you.”

 

Alphys sniffles and nods, falling back into line next to Rose, who sets a comforting hand on her head.

 

Sans yawns, curling his head in closer to the thick, soft collar of Gaster’s coat. Feeling the darkness grab him, calling his name, Sans closes his eyes, and lets sleep take him.

 

 

xxx

 

 

When Sans first comes to, it’s in darkness and shadow. Sitting up with a panicked gasp, looking around wildly, he relaxes slowly as the familiar sight of Gaster’s workroom at night comes into view, the quiet sounds of Papyrus’s murmuring breaths as he sleeps on the cot next to him and Toby’s quiet snores from the foot of the sofa filtering into his hearing as the momentary panic calms.

 

Shifting on the surprisingly cushy surface below him, Sans glances down in confusion and chuckles at the mountain’s worth of velvety blankets and pillows padded underneath and around him, entirely disguising the sickly green couch beneath. He wasn’t even aware Gaster _owned_ this many pillows, but apparently he’d dragged out every spare one in the labs just for the point of padding the couch.

 

Then again…Sans shifts, feeling the bruises and aches on his bones from being tossed around, and winces. Perhaps having so much padding is a good idea right now.

 

Raising a hand close enough to his face to see, Sans sighs. Despite still feeling the abrasions underneath, his palm and fingers are now wrapped firmly in gauze, with Wind’s trademark brightly colored, cartoony band aids dotted here and there. Grinning, he traces his thumb over his palm, where someone, presumably Alphys, has doodled a small catgirl face on the bandage in bright pink glitter pen.

 

Flopping back onto the pillows, Sans feels a stirring at the foot of his bed as Toby wakes up and crawls up next to him, nudging his head under Sans’s arm. Giggling, Sans lets his eyes fall shut again.

 

He is here, he is safe.

 

There is nothing to fear.

 

…Right?

 

 

xxx

 

 

Shadows climbing up the walls. Faceless, formless figures reaching out to grab him. Hysterical laughter of a high-pitched voice and crying children and knives.

 

Sans falls, screaming. The void reaches out to catch him, hands grabbing at him and missing, dust spilling from their fingertips. It fills his eyes, his mouth, filters between his ribs and clogs his soul. He screams, and drowns in the taste of death.

 

He opens his eyes, on the ground, Undyne before him, grin sharp and eyes wild. She lifts a hand and spears rain down, leaving burning streaks of pain in their wake. Scrambling to his feet, he runs, down into the endless black, dodging spears and arrows and swords as guards lunge out of the dark, straight at him.

 

With a crash, Sans slams into something, falling to the ground with a winded gasp. Forcing his eyes up, he screams as Asgore looms above him, face hidden by shadow save for his glowing eyes as he raises his trident and brings it down right through Sans’s chest, piercing his soul.

 

Pain overwhelms him, and he screeches out, wishing for reprieve, as Asgore and his trident vanish in a whisp of smoke, reforming slowly, into something much smaller.

 

“Sans.”

 

He sobs, scrambling back and covering his face. “No, please. _Enough_.”

 

“Look at me, Sans.”

 

Reluctantly, forcing his hands away from his face, he does.

 

The human stands before him, blood dripping from the wound in her abdomen where the spear pierced her, frayed pieces of wool clinging to the hole. Her face is smeared with tear tracks as she cries, blood dripping from her mouth. “Look at what you’ve done. What you did to me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, sobbing as tears overtake his vision, blurring the human’s form. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“You promised to protect me. You _swore_ to me. And then you let me die. Did you not love me Sans?” She glares down at him, gaze cold. “Was it all just a lie? A game?”

 

“No!” he screams. “Never! I tried to protect you, I did! I tried so hard!”

 

“And I _died!_ Did you want me to die?! Was that your—“

 

“IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!”

 

He falls down, curled up on the ground, shivering. “It…should have been me. I’m sorry. I tried. I didn’t want to lose you, I never did. It should have been me who took that spear. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

 

“You—“ The human cuts off, screeching in pain with an unholy voice that is not her own, and Sans startles, glancing up to find a shard of glowing magic piercing through her chest. With a puff and rush of air, she disappears, drifting off into the black. Behind where she was stands a small figure, smaller even than him, cast in shadow.

 

“Filthy shadow,” it mutters in a quiet, distorted voice, before peering down at Sans. “…What are you doing here? It’s far too early.”

 

“…What?” Sans manages, completely lost.

 

“Never mind.“ It sighs, walking forward and offering a hand to Sans, which he hesitantly takes, and gasps the moment their hand touches his. Magic, immensely powerful and almost identical to his, floods his system, curling around him and settling in his soul like a warm blanket. Pulling him to his feet, the figure releases his hand and stares at him, considering, as Sans does the same.

 

There’s not much to see, darkness hugs its form so that he can just barely make out the vague shape of its form and…clothing? A hood is pulled low over its face, concealing it from him, and something around its neck, a scarf or baklava maybe, hides its mouth. But even apart, he can now sense the magic in the air, crackling and bouncing between the both of them.

 

Magic like his.

 

“What are you?” he asks, dazed.

 

The figure pauses, tilting its head. “I’m…a remnant.” Around them, the darkness shivers, and the figure tenses. “You need to go.” Walking forward, it reaches up and pulls whatever is covering its mouth down, stretching up on its toes and pressing a soft kiss to Sans’s forehead. “Good luck, Sans. Also um…sorry in advance about this. It’s faster.”

 

With that, it reaches out, and s n a p s h i s n e c k.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans wakes with a silent scream, shooting up and curling in on himself and desperately feeling at his neck for breaks that don’t exist, trembling. The screams and cries and the betrayed voice of the human ring in his mind, and he wraps his arms around his head, burying his face in the blankets and sobbing. It’s too loud, he can’t even hear himself think over the noise.

 

This is _not_ ok, this is not _safe_.

 

The human is dead and he is alone and the guards, Undyne, Asgore, all of them, will hunt him until the day he dies.

 

Nothing will ever be ok again.

 

It hurts so much. He just wants it to stop, so that he can finally rest.

 

…Surely, there must be some way to make it stop?

 

The bathroom light flickers dimly as he switches it on, stumbling inside the small room and shutting the door. Opening the medicine cabinet, he rifles through shakily, knocking over bottles in his wake. Around him, the shadows hug the walls, laughing at him and egging him on to do it, _do it, end the pain_.

 

Grabbing at different bottles, eyes flitting over the labels, scanning the names and ingredients, Sans is for once thankful for all the safety lectures and booklets on hazardous chemicals Rose gave him. A little basic chemistry, and he knows just the right combination of seemingly innocuous ingredients to lull him into a sleep he won’t have to wake from.

 

Forcing pills down his throat, spares spilling from knocked over canisters into the sink and onto the floor, Sans falls back against the wall and sinks to the floor, curling up as he feels the drugs begin to filter into his system, eyes growing heavy.

 

It’s quick, and relatively painless, he’ll give it that.

 

Suddenly, the door thumps, handle rattling, held in place loosely by the flimsy lock, startling Sans into opening his eyes and glancing up, watching the door shake idly. “Sans? Sans! Are you in there? I heard crashing! You alright?”

 

Sans sighs. Gaster.

 

“It’s nothing…don’t come in.”

 

Closing his eyes, Sans curls back up on the floor, quietly wishing he had his coat to wrap around him.

 

It’s cold.

 

The door slams open with a bang, and in an instant warm hands are on him, desperately turning him over and patting at his face. “Sans? Sans!”

 

Opening his eyes slightly, Sans squints at the blurry figure before him, vaguely settling into something tall, pale, thin, and familiar, and Sans smiles quietly. “Oh. Hi G.”

 

“Shit. _Shit,_ ” he hears Gaster mumble, and then hands are on his back, sitting him up and turning him around, before foreign magic forces its way into his system, and Sans retches, leaning down and into a large blue bucket conveniently placed in front of him. The magic continues to invade him as Sans throws up, expelling everything in his system, and it is like a breath of fresh air coming over him, awakening his senses and clearing his mind, as the half-digested pills leave his body. Retching once more as the last of the bile clears him, Sans hunches over the bucket, shivering, slowly becoming aware of a gentle hand rubbing his back and a quiet voice making soft shushing noises. Sobbing, he turns, burying his face in Gaster’s chest, and hearing Gaster sigh in relief. “…Sans.”

 

“I’m so sorry! I was so stupid, I—“

 

“It’s alright,” Gaster says, arms coming up to hug him back. “But why did you…”

 

“I was just so tired of hurting," Sans says, feeling tears boil up again. “It hurts all the time and it never gets better and I just wanted it to stop and I just…I _miss_ her. I miss her so much.”

 

“I know,” Gaster whispers, grip tightening for a moment, before he places a hand on Sans’s chin and brings his face out from its hiding place to meet his eyes. “I know it’s hard. After my…after the human I knew died, I didn’t know what to do. I was so lonely, I thought my world was over…that I’d never be happy again. But it _gets better_ Sans, I promise you. That hole will never be replaced, but if you keep striving, if you keep pushing forward, then you will find a new purpose, and new people to love, who will love you in return. It is never the end, unless you decide it is.”

 

"I know,” he mumbles, curling up tighter against Gaster. “Sometimes it just…feels like there’s no place left I belong anymore.”

 

Gaster hesitates, frowning. “I was going to save this for after you’d been here a little longer, but perhaps…” Gently, he stands up, lifting Sans up in his arms and settling him against his chest like a small child, walking out of the room and down the hall towards one of the rooms apart from the labs and in the living area, a room Sans has never been in, settling a hand on the doorknob awkwardly. “Now is a good time.” Opening the door, he takes a couple steps inside, bending and setting Sans down on the floor on his feet. Carefully steadying himself, Sans takes a step and looks around the room, eyes wide.

 

The walls are the gentle blue of the surface sky, mixed in with darker swirls of the colors of Waterfall, large, blooming echo flowers painted on the walls, rising from the baseboard, constellations painted along the ceiling. A large, cushy white rug hugs the wood floor, and gently pushed into the corners are an empty dresser, a desk with a small reading lamp set up next to a pile of novels and children’s books, and a bed piled high with blue blankets and large pillows shaped like clouds and stars.

 

Sans blinks, dazed, and turns back to Gaster. “…Is this?”

 

“Your room,” Gaster mumbles, shuffling awkwardly and looking down at his feet. “There’s one for Papyrus too, obviously. It’s…yours, if you want it. A place just for you. This, _here_ ,” Gaster gestures upwards at the ceiling, where the main lab lies above them, “with all of us. This is where you belong Sans, if you so choose.”

 

Sans grins, feeling tears once again slip down his cheeks, but this time ignores them. They are a different kind of tears.

 

“Yeah. I’d…I’d like that a lot. If you still want me around.”

 

Gaster smiles, eyes tired, but warm. “Of course.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

When Sans has been working in the labs nine months, Rose asks him about his birthday, and he stumbles out an answer in the form of the birthday of the soul he belonged to a lifetime ago, the soul he always will belong to.

 

Two weeks later, the whole group of them throw a party for him up in the main break room. A cake with the words _Happy Birthday Sans_ and thirteen candles set on the table. They all wear star-patterned party hats, even Gamma, admittedly with a very disgruntled expression, and talk loudly as they gather around him and set his own party hat on his head.

 

Sans eats three pieces of cake, and cries.

 

It’s good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! This chapter was a lot of fun (especially since I finally got to introduce Remnant), but I'm super excited to get to work on the next one! There's a lot of fun stuff there!
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Or! Check out the [official Not As Simple content blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/), for all things Not As Simple!


	16. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with a Monopoly game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUESS WHAT I'M NOT DEAD.
> 
> Ok so like. This was originally going to be the Wind Chapter, but I ended up taking a couple weeks off because I was feeling pretty fizzled out over writing, and then started some work on a Voltron fic to give myself a short break from Not As Simple work (the Voltron fic in question is indeed up on AO3 if you fancy checking it out), and by then I'd gotten more than a few questions about the update, so rather than a massively long update I opted to split it into two more reasonable chapters and soothe the masses. So. Think of this as the Prelude to the Wind Chapter. I know she comes up in here a bit but there's still a Lot with her character to get into. I'm excited.
> 
> As always! A huge thank you to the glorious fan artists!! Specifically in this case the wonderful twin-ace for her absolutely gorgeous art of Wind from the last chapter, which you can check out [here!!](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/150054781753/pastel-clark-twin-ace-asgore-slowly-pushes)  
> I'd also like to take a moment to note that my only way of tracking fanart is tumblr, and that's often faulty, so if anyone's done fanart on deviantart, twitter, or even on tumblr that I've missed, please send me a link! I'd love to see it!

It’s near a year after Sans begins working at the labs before Asgore and the guards manage to worm their way back into his life, with all the force and reckless lack of necessity of a crowbar to an already open door.

 

Well, he supposes _technically_ by law and contract it is an allowed, albeit brief, necessity, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

 

After _"the incident"_ with Undyne, as Rose has taken to referring to it, Sans sees neither hide nor hair from her or Asgore. Asgore, as well as any guard, he knows is being kept out on Gaster’s orders, which Wind seems more than happy to comply with, with vicious efficiency to any wandering guardsmen who accidentally take the wrong elevator. Undyne’s presence is no more missed than her guardian’s, and while Alphys admits to Sans in a quiet, shaky voice a few weeks after the fight that she is still talking to Undyne by text, and trying to work things out after what happened, she too seems cautious of Undyne’s direct company, and she remains persona non grata in the labs, which is more than fine with Sans. Personally, he doesn’t think Undyne was good enough to spend time with Alphys, but what company she chooses to keep is her choice.

 

Regardless, for a period of months, there is peace, and slowly Sans feels himself slip quietly back into his new life, and his new home.

 

It’s an almost seamless transition moving into the labs, given Sans and Papyrus spend the majority of their nights there already. All it takes is a couple trips to move their more necessary or treasured items down into the rooms Gaster has prepared. Able to seize the opportunity of having his own space for the first time, Sans gratefully slips in the human’s backpack with their other small boxes of stuff, hidden from prying eyes, and stores it in the bottom drawer of his dresser, along with her pillow, blanket, and sweater. As if sensing Sans’s hesitations about Papyrus opening the drawer, Sans returns the next day after placing the items in the drawer to find it hooked up with a strange lock, which when asked about prompts Gaster to wink at him cheerfully. “Coded to your magic, will open for you and you only.”

 

Sans blinks. “You can do that?”

 

“Of course,” Gaster says cheerfully. “We all have secrets.”

 

After that, Sans starts noticing similar locks placed on drawers in Gaster’s office and the occasional room or box, leaving him staring and wondering if they store mementos of Gaster’s human, or something else all together.

 

And so it goes.

 

Having separate rooms is a new experience for himself and Papyrus, and many nights Papyrus will still come crawling into Sans’s bed to sleep next to him through the door to their adjoining rooms, but for the most part his brother takes to their new home surprisingly well, delighting in his new, brightly painted room, with each wall a different, cheerful color, and the toy box and shelves stacked with fluffy toys and dress up clothes and puzzles. There’s even a cheerful border of little flowers, bright and small like those of the surface, running along the bottom of the walls, and a large mobile of butterflies and birds hanging from the ceiling.

 

A part of Sans still can’t comprehend the idea of distractible, scientific, disorganized Gaster standing here and painting these walls, hanging these decorations, and picking out these toys, but he must have. This is the little secret that hangs between the three of them, of Sans and Papyrus and the mystery of where they came from, and these rooms are assumedly a part of that secret.

 

Honestly, despite their efforts to hide it, Sans often wonders if the others are clued in to his and Papyrus’s situation. Despite their bluffing, and their insistence that they leave after everyone else, it must be somewhat obvious Sans and Papyrus more or less do in fact live at the labs now, but no one says anything to him, and so Sans makes no effort to bring it up either.

 

Ignorance, even feigned ignorance, is bliss after all.

 

And it’s not like they never leave. Sans does make an effort to go out to the cave at least once a week. There’s still storage being kept in there—their old mattresses, blankets and pillows that there was no need to bring with them, crates of trading supplies and food stores. Sans trusts in the fact that if no one found the cave in a roughly estimated two years, no one is likely to now, but it still never hurt to check up on things, and checking in with the Tems once or twice a week to see if they need anything done helps keep him in their favor as well.

 

Snowdin remains a continued occasional destination, often at Papyrus’s begging insistence. It’s nice, sometimes, to sit in the warmth of Ignis and her husband’s diner with Grillby and idly poke fun at each other, even if Sans still can’t sit at the table he once sat at over a dozen lives ago. And for the weeks Sans can’t make it out, Grillby always shows up to make sure Sans hasn’t turned to dust and floated away.

 

Which is ironic, considering that’s just what Sans fancies doing when he hears that he’ll have to face Asgore and his guards’ presences once more.

 

 

xxx

 

 

It starts with a Monopoly game.

 

“…Tennessee,” Alphys says apprehensively as she moves her game piece onto the little square marked by the red hotel resting on it, and Sans cackles as she resignedly counts out her money.

 

“Excellent.” He grins, rubbing his hands together. “Papyrus, collect our winnings.” Papyrus sticks out his hand bluntly. With a sigh, Alphys passes over the wad of bills to him, and he drops it in the large pile between himself and Sans.

 

“I _still_ say you have an unfair advantage. Two people playing as a team against other singular competitors isn’t fair.”

 

Sans rolls his eyes, counting out his cash and handing some to Grillby, who silently banks it and places another hotel down on Sans’s next empty property. “Papyrus can’t even divide or multiply yet, let alone break hundreds and manage properties. Making him play on his own would just be unfair.”

 

“I can count!”

 

“I know Papyrus, but this is a little more complicated than counting. Besides Alphys, you’re just being bitter because you’re a sore loser.”

 

Alphys’s eyes glint and then narrow with competitive focus, and Grillby gives Sans a pleading look as Alphys snatches up the dice. “I haven’t lost yet!”

 

Sans winks at Grillby, and Grillby puts his head in his hands.

 

“I’m just saying,” Rose’s voice filters into the room as she walks in, followed closely behind by a rather resigned looking Gamma and Ficus, “if he’s going to complain this much about the second season, don’t keep a copy of the disk in the break room. How was I supposed to know he found it so morally repulsive? It’s only anime.”

 

Gamma shrugs, glancing down at their phone as they fiddle with it. “The source manga is significantly more well written and engaging.”

 

Rose twitches, shooting a glare at Gamma. “Thank you for your input, _Doctor Verde_ , I’ll be sure to take it under advisement.” Coming to a stop in front of Sans and the others, she claps her hands, looking down on them with a businesslike expression. “C’mon, up! Up!”

 

Sans blinks, raising his equivalent of an eyebrow. “What? Why?”

 

Rose doesn’t even pause, picking up Sans with a yelp from him and tucking him under an arm like he weighs nothing, before reaching down to pick up Papyrus and hand him off to Gamma, who takes him with gracious silence, settling him on a hip and handing him a cookie from their pocket. “Because I need to clean and you’re in the way.” Swooping down, she picks up Alphys, who screeches in surprise, before walking over and plopping them both down on the sofa. Turning back, she gives a singular glance to Grillby, who is up and sitting on the couch in an instant, clearly hoping to avoid being manhandled onto it like Sans and Alphys. Clicking her tongue in busied disapproval, Rose turns back to the game, scooping up all the pieces and dumping them back in the box.

 

“Hey! We were playing with that!” Sans says, scowling as he watches his hotels disappear back into the box.

 

“Not anymore,” Rose mutters briskly, placing the lid on the box and handing it to Ficus, who goes to reshelve it. “I just got notice our annual inspection has been moved forward two days due to a large weekend social gathering the same effing officials are needed at, which somehow they didn’t feel the need to inform me of until now, so we need this whole place spotless and appearing to be a location of safe and reasonable work by tomorrow.”

 

Alphys groans, slumping forward and burying her face in her hands. “They _always_ do this. I’ll go start on the kitchen with Ficus.” She jumps off the couch and disappears, Ficus following close behind, and Sans frowns.

 

He’s pretty confident he’s missing something here.

 

“What’s an…annual inspection?” he asks, glancing at Grillby, who shrugs in similar confusion.

 

“Just what it sounds like,” Rose murmurs distractedly, shuffling around papers on the table next to her and shifting them into some semblance of an ordered stack. “While we’re given a lot of autonomy to do as we please at Gaster’s discretion, we’re still a government funded and licensed program, and subject to review to check we’re doing our jobs like any other government employees. Gaster’s done his best to minimize that, but we still have to settle for a yearly inspection by the king, his head of the Royal Guard, since they’re more or less head of castle security, and the royal officials who oversee the funding of public research programs like ours.”

 

Sans stills, feeling his hands curl into fists, bone biting into bone, against the sofa cushions. “…Asgore’s coming…Asgore’s coming _here?!_ ” Vaguely, he can hear the spiraling panic in his voice, but Sans can’t focus on it, breathing growing heavy as he stares out at nothing.

 

Rose inhales sharply, the sound quiet and in sudden realization, before she speaks in practiced calm. “Grillby, perhaps it’s about time you got to going home.”

 

Next to him, Sans can feel Grillby hesitate. “I…”

 

“ _Now_ Grillby.” Rose’s voice is firm. “Gamma will see you out and down to the docks.”

 

The sofa creaks as Grillby stands, and then a warm hand is on Sans’s shoulder, causing him to blink and look up at a nervous Grillby above him. “…You’ll be alright?”

 

Sans nods shakily, forcing a smile. “Y-yeah. You get home before Ignis freaks.”

 

Grillby nods, stepping back and allowing Gamma to lead him out of the room, glancing back once at Sans with one of those expressions conveying a message only Sans can understand.

 

_Call if you need me._

 

Sans swallows, ducking his head, silently conveying his agreement as Grillby disappears around the corner. Keeping his gaze on the floor, Sans hears Rose sigh before she settles down onto the sofa next to him, her heels nudging against Sans’s new blue sneakers he’d found snuck into his room a few weeks ago next to his boots, presumably a gift from Gaster.

 

“So…” Sans says after a moment, feeling his shoulders hunch in. “Asgore…and a bunch of guards…are going to be in here tomorrow.”

 

Rose hesitates. “…Yes, they will.”

 

Sans laughs hollowly, unable to stop the urge from pulling his legs up onto the couch and curling into a tight ball. “I don’t suppose I can just play hooky tomorrow then?”

 

“No…” Rose says carefully, quietly. “It’s required of all employees, even student ones, to be present for the evaluation. I’m so sorry Sans, I’ve been so busy with this I forgot that you…”

 

Sans shrugs. “Not your fault.”

 

And it isn’t Rose’s fault, that’s the simple truth. She’s not here to babysit him. She’s a coworker, an advisor, and yes, a friend, but given she’s not even privy to Sans’s secrets or why he’s really here, it’s not fair of her to remember every potential problem for him. Hell, all she witnessed was one unexplainable altercation between himself and Asgore, and she, as well as everyone else, had been good enough not to ask him about the cause of it. Even Alphys, who given her presence had undeniably heard Undyne’s comments about the human, had never questioned him even once.

 

Feeling a dull ache in his chest, Sans lets out a single, gasping sob. He doesn’t deserve them, really. Not any of them.

 

Rose is on him in an instant, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts as she wraps her arms around him and tugs him firmly into a hug. Startling, he blinks, then relaxes into the hold, resting his head against Rose’s collarbone and breathing in the clean smell of Rose’s fur, her coat, her magic.

 

Idly, he wonders if this is what it is like to have a mother hold you.

 

Feeling a lump in his throat, Sans shoves the thought down. This is neither the time nor place, not for this consideration nor the half-formed not-memories that threaten to pull him into darkness at the thoughts of _home, parent, Mother._

“I’m sorry, Sans,” Rose mumbles again, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his skull. “I guess I thought Gaster had already told you. I should have remembered that man is shit with telling people about these sorts of things.”

 

Sans giggles wetly, sniffling. “Yeah, he really is.”

 

Still, that can’t stop the pang of upset that runs through him at the idea of Gaster knowing this was going to happen and not _warning_ Sans.

 

Gently, he taps a hand against Rose’s shoulder. “I think I’m good now.”

 

Rose carefully releases him, taking his face between her hands and inspecting him with scrutiny. “Are you sure?”

 

Sans can’t help the snort that escapes. “ _Yes_ , Rose, I’m sure.” Seemingly satisfied, Rose lets go of his face and sits back, allowing Sans to slip down off the sofa, fidgeting with his sleeves nervously as he glances back up at her. “You should get back to cleaning, I’m gonna…go find Gaster, if that’s alright.”

 

“Of course,” Rose says, and Sans takes that as his dismissal, scooting out of the room and down the hall until he’s sure he’s far away enough from Rose that she’s not going to come looking for him, and then promptly leaning against the wall and collapsing, sinking to the ground with his head in his hands.

 

 _Breathe,_ he orders himself against the panic threatening to rise back up again just as soon as he had pushed it down for Rose’s sake. _Just breathe_.

 

He can’t do this, can’t have a breakdown like this in the middle of the hallway for anyone to see. He needs to…needs to get to his room, to the drawer with her blanket and her sweater and everything that the smell of her, of _home_ , clings to even now. Freaking out about this does him no good, it’s not a situation he can change. He will handle it, he _has_ to handle it.

 

…That doesn’t mean he’s not going to give Gaster a right yelling at for not telling him. That dick.

 

Taking in one last deep breath and sighing, Sans pushes himself up into a standing position, pulling his face out of his hands and turning down the hall, only to stop short at the sight of Gamma, sans Papyrus and Grillby, standing a few feet away, their eyes wide and almost hesitant from where they clearly saw Sans panicking. He gulps, forcing a weak grin onto his face. “G-Gamma! Hey! You, uh, drop Paps off with Wind or something?”

 

Gamma doesn’t speak, only taking a few steps forward to close the gap between them and then squatting down so they are at Sans’s level, their bright green eyes peering into Sans’s. He chuckles nervously, leaning back on his heels. “Uh, Gamma, what—“

 

“You do not need to be afraid of them,” Gamma says calmly, cutting Sans off.

 

“…I don’t—“

 

“Gaster has protected you before, and he will again if necessary, and the same can be said for Wind or Rose or any of the occupants of this laboratory. You are a part of this team, and a part of this _family_ , and we look out for our own. You are infinitely more important than keeping standing with Asgore, and most of us have little to keep us in his good graces regardless. You do not need to be afraid, because this is not the outside. This is Asgore and his people stepping into our territory, and _we will protect you._ Do you understand?”

 

Sans blinks, ignoring the tears gathering in his vision again, and swallows down the sob he can feel building. Instead, he offers Gamma another smile, this one smaller and much more natural.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

Gamma smiles, and Sans wonders how he never noticed how warm their smile is.

 

“Good.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans finds Gaster down in the bottom of the Hotland extension, amongst the largest of the storage crates, courtesy of a set of harried directions from Wind shouted over her shoulder while she ran by with a box of cleaning supplies, headed for her office. Coming to a stop just behind the other monster, Sans leans against the nearest crate with his arms crossed and idly watches Gaster rummage through the one he has open, upper body buried in it with the occasional muttered curse word drifting out from inside.

 

It’s a comfortingly familiar sight, Gaster’s long black coat swishing against the backs of his knees, its hem peering out from under his lab coat, because he refuses to just wear one or the other, as he pushes up onto his toes and dips deeper into the crate, somehow not falling in despite the obvious weight displacement. Closing his eyes, Sans listens to the sounds of Gaster’s rambled mutterings, languages filtering through smoothly without hesitation in the transitions, and here and there a pause for the occasional curse word. Gaster freezes, and shouts something indistinct in Wingdings, too muffled for Sans to make out, and he opens his eyes just as Gaster surges forward triumphantly. Gravity finally giving in, Gaster slides too far in, and his feet off the ground, headed for an inevitable fate inside the crate with an ungainly screech.

 

Sighing, Sans hops forward, grabbing onto the hem of Gaster’s lab coat and yanking with all of his strength, just enough to tip the weight balance back in Gaster’s favor and safely back onto the ground. Feet touching down once again, Gaster straightens up proudly, emerging with a small metal cog clutched in one hand as he bounces away from the crate with his prize, whooping and managing a full circular spin of victory before glancing back down at his savior and blinking in surprise. “Oh, Sans. Wasn’t expecting you to be down here. Weren’t you playing Monopoly with Alphys and your boyfriend?”

 

Sans feels heat crawl across his cheekbones, and fights the urge to drop his head into his hands. “Grillby is _not_ my boyfriend.”

 

“Well,” Gaster mutters idly, inspecting the cog in his hands, “not yet, at least. Give it a few years and we’ll see.”

 

At that Sans does drop his head, covering his face with his hands and groaning. “Do you just not listen to anything other people say if it contradicts you?”

 

“Nope,” Gaster says cheerfully. “Because I’m always right.”

 

Sans rolls his eyes. “ _Sure._ Anyways, the Monopoly game got canceled. Rose needed the floor for cleaning.” He glances up at Gaster, waiting for a reaction, because they _never_ clean, surely this will clue him in, but Gaster’s only response is a thoughtful hum, focus on the part he squandered from the storage box.

 

“C’mon Sans,” Gaster says, glancing away from his prize and finally back down at Sans. “I want to get this thing back to the workroom and see if it indeed is the part we need for the barrier projector.” He turns, coat flapping dramatically as he begins to walk away, and Sans grimaces, feeling his hands clench.

 

Gaster kept the inspection a secret from him, and now he won’t even give him the time of day.

 

“We can’t,” he bites out, voice icy. “We have to clean, remember? For the _inspection_ , they moved it up to tomorrow—a fun little fact Rose just told me about.”

 

Gaster freezes, back rigid, and carefully turns his head back to Sans, eyes wide. “Oh shit.”

 

Sans scowls, looking off to the side, crossing his arms, and doing his best to ignore the approaching footsteps he hears until Gaster is _there_ and dropping to a crouch in front of him that is ironically reminiscent of Gamma’s earlier position.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sans chokes out, a hand coming up to desperately rub at his eyes because he _will not cry,_ he isn’t a _child_. “Did you think it’d be funny? Just spring it on me and watch me freak? I had to hear it from Rose, Gaster! _Rose!_ I love Rose but she’s not—“ His voice breaks, and he ducks his head down. “She’s not you.”

 

Not his savior, not his first protector. Not the monster he has bared his soul and entrusts his darkest secrets to.

 

Rose may make him wonder what it’s like to have a mother, but Gaster is the one he thinks of when he hears the word father.

 

…Not that Gaster needs to know that. Gaster isn’t his parent, and he doesn’t need him to be. He’s not Gaster’s responsibility. He can look after himself.

 

“Sans…” Gaster’s voice is quiet, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I thought…it wasn’t supposed to be for another couple days. I was going to tell you tonight. I know that sounds convenient, but it’s the truth. I probably shouldn’t have waited this long but I just…” He sighs. “I didn’t want to subject you to that knowledge any sooner than was necessary.”

 

Sans laughs bitterly, closing his eyes and hugging himself. “Why? Thought I couldn’t handle it?”

 

“No.” Gaster sighs. “You’re a tough one, Sans. Far more so than should be necessary for your age. I don’t doubt your ability to handle anything. However, handling and being okay with something are completely different. Asgore and his guards remind you of the worst times of your life. They scare you and anger you. I knew the anticipation of the inspection would make you nervous and miserable, and I wanted to protect you from that as long as possible. It was selfish of me, to delay it like that, but I just…wanted to keep you happy for a little longer.”

 

Sans relaxes slightly from his tense grip, and glances up at Gaster warily. “I…really?”

 

Gaster nods, eyes tired. “I’m sorry, I suppose I ended up doing more harm than good.”

 

Sans winces, glancing down.

 

He thinks of the secrets he’s kept from Papyrus—of their lost past, the human, the real reason they came to the labs. These are things Papyrus arguably has a right to know, to have explained to him, but Sans has withheld, and plans to continue doing so indefinitely. He trusts his brother, but he keeps his secrets still. To protect him.

 

…Just as Gaster tries to for him.

 

Wiping at a stray tear, Sans looks back up at Gaster. “It wasn’t great, no, but I…understand it, I think. I just—I know you want to protect me, I get that, but I hate not knowing things. Please don’t keep secrets from me like that, not about those types of things.”

 

Gaster nods, shoulders sagging. “Of course.” Almost hesitantly, he shifts out his arms, and Sans accepts the unspoken offer, crumpling forward and against Gaster’s chest, arms around his neck, as Gaster’s arms come back up around him securely, one hand on his back while the other pets gently at the back of his skull.

 

“It’s alright,” Gaster says. “I know I can’t stop you from being scared, I always am a little myself, but I promise I will protect you. We all will.”

 

“I know,” Sans whispers, pressing a smile into the collar of Gaster’s jacket. “Gamma said the same thing.”

 

Gaster laughs in surprise, straightening up with Sans still clinging to him, settling him against his chest and beginning the trek back to the main lab. Normally Sans would protest against being carried like a small child like this, but for once he opts to accept the offered comfort, burying his face into Gaster’s shoulder.

 

“Of course they did, why am I surprised? Gamma plays the aloof professional very well, but they’re a very loving person underneath. Like a hedgehog.”

 

Sans snorts, the picture of the strange surface creature he’s seen in a few of Gaster’s books coming to mind, with its soft underbelly and vicious spikes. “Sounds about right.”

 

Gaster chuckles, pausing for a moment and then sighing. “They’re right, you know. We’ll always protect you, now and in the future. You can count on that.”

 

Sans smiles, closing his eyes. “I do. Besides, I _do_ trust that even if you couldn’t protect me from something, Wind could. I’m pretty sure she could fight the sun and win.”

 

Gaster cackles, startled, stopping and hunching over slightly as he wheezes. “Never a truer word spoken. She’s truly something to be feared by those who are her enemies—and admired, for that matter. By everyone.” He tapers off, voice growing somber. “Sometimes I think she would have been better off being born in a different time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Ah, right, I suppose it’s never been mentioned around you, has it?” Sans shakes his head against Gaster’s coat collar, and Gaster sighs. “Wind is from a very rare and unusual monster species. Her kind was always a small, self-run community—and when I say small, I mean _small_ even for a monster species. I think the historical maximum for their species was ninety or so of them. Then again, my own village wasn’t much bigger. A very unique society, the Currentwalkers were, powerful magic and good physiology, very stable for a monster. They were an elite group of monsters, almost all of them serving in the monster military in some capacity, a lifetime ago when it was a military and not just a guard, at least. Back in those days, the captain was always a Currentwalker, as were many of the royal family’s elite guards and the most high-ranking generals. There were other monster species with similar skill, of course. That girl Undyne looks like she comes from an old species known as Meriads that were also renowned fighters. The Currentwalkers, though, that was what their whole community was built around. Intense, loyal, compassionate soldiers—the wings of justice, they were called.” Gaster pauses, steps slowing, and Sans glances up to see Gaster’s face sobering. “It worked against them, in the war. So many of them were on the frontlines, and even those assigned to escorting refugees wouldn’t hesitate to commit to a suicide mission if it meant protecting their charges…they died so quickly, along with the vast majority of the other fighters. Just more dust below the human army’s feet. Only a few families made it into the Underground, and more than a few individuals perished to the darkness of the caves. Those that survived learned that they would have to embrace a new style of living to keep their kind going, and many of them made partners out of monsters of other species, allowing their ancestry to continue on.”

 

Gaster hums, coming to a stop by an old storage crate and tracing a hand along its rim. “Wind’s direct family line was one of particular prowess. The first monster of their Underground lineage was the daughter of the former Captain of Asgore’s personal protection squadron. They never lost their sense of service even in the Underground, the members of their family and the other surviving Currentwalkers becoming much of the first royal guard. Over the years, most of the family lines died out. Except one.” Gaster pauses, giving the storage crate one last tap before moving on, shifting Sans in his arms.

 

“It’s funny how being the last of your kind can make a good bonding point for two people,” Gaster says with forced humor, and falls silent, eyes glassy and lost in some long-buried memory Sans doesn’t have the power to pry him from. After a moment, Gaster shakes his head, expression brightening and beginning his walk again. “Anyways, that’s the gist of that. I suppose if you want any more than that in terms of her family’s history you’d have to ask Wind herself, it’s all a bit personal.”

 

Sans blinks, looking down at the floor, the memory of Wind, her protective posture in front of him, Asgore’s wide eyes staring at her in what could only be recognition tickling the back of his mind.

 

“Yeah…” 

 

“So,” Gaster says, voice bright in a more sincere version of his enthusiasm from before, “shall we go clean and all that jazz? Rose will have my head if she gets down to my workrooms and sees them in the state they are.”

 

Sans giggles, pressing his face into Gaster’s coat. It smells like chemicals, and fire, and chocolate. A completely different smell from that of the human’s sweater, and yet like home. Carefully, he slips one of his hands free and curls it around the shape of the memory pendant underneath his sweater.

 

“Alright.”

 

Things will be okay. He isn’t alone anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time (and definitely not with a month's silence of waiting): The "I'm Gay For Wind Help" Chapter. Feat. the swooning of myself and my friends. Also the inspection. That's a thing.
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Or! Check out the [official Not As Simple content blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/), for all things Not As Simple!


	17. The Recruit (Nimbus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s…it’s alright, you know,” he says. “To have a past you want to forget, to come from a broken place.” Wind glances at him, and he smiles. “Broken things can be repaired. They won’t necessarily ever be the same, and their…their cracks will still be with them, but…they can be whole again, or close to it. At least…I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ANNIVERSARY Y'ALL.
> 
> So! I know It's been two months since the last update, and basically all I can say is I had a really rough couple months, got out of a shitty relationship, etc., and needed a break from this fic, worked on a piece for Voltron instead. I know a lot of you have been waiting, so thank you for being so patient.
> 
> Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Not As Simple, and can I just say what a ride it's been? I never expected this fic to take off like it did, or develop the odd little community of dedicated readers it has, but I'm eternally grateful for the opportunity to tell you all this story.
> 
> Before we begin, there's been some fanart in the interim! Many thanks as always to the ever-wonderful GoosyGander for [these hilarious doodles](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/152323641923/pastel-clark-goosygander-pastel-clark-i) and this [gorgeous comic from the last chapter](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/151324671113/pastel-clark-goosygander-pastel-clark-quick), and to drawingon for this simply gorgeous piece of [Integrity](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/152193307328/pastel-clark-drawingon-pastel-clarks) as well as these [doodles of her](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/151736268358/pastel-clark-drawingon-who-needs-sleep-or).
> 
> There's also now some of my own art of Integrity up on RedBubble, so if you dig our girl of the ballet and badassery, feel free to [check it out here](http://www.redbubble.com/people/pastelclark/works/24006553-fourth-to-fall?SSAID=389818&utm_source=shareasale&utm_medium=affiliates&utm_campaign=banner). I've got another surprise for y'all in the works in honor of the anniversary, but it's not quite ready yet, so next time. <3
> 
> Now, without further ado, I present to you, Not As Simple's longest chapter! The story of Nimbus Wind Cumulus.
> 
> (Btw, we've covered this stuff before in this fic, but warnings here for mentions of suicide, depression, murder, and child neglect. So. The usual business?)

The morning of the inspection feels like the calm before the storm, a tense quiet encased in an overwhelming apprehension that’s so noticeable to Sans it almost feels tangible, as if it’s quite literally clinging to him like some kind of parasite.

 

In a way, he thinks the comparison might be appropriate, for it certainly seems he’s infected the rest of the staff with his nerves.

 

Then again, he doesn’t know what things are normally like before the inspections each year, so he can’t pass a full assessment. But, at least, Sans figures his own panic hasn’t helped things, only elevating the tension around the labs.

 

Admittedly, Sans can’t help but panic, given the circumstances, but he’s not the only one, as far as he can tell. Everyone seems on edge, in their own ways—Rose, with her sharp orders and obsessive cleaning the last couple days, being the most obvious about it, albeit unintentionally.

 

For a while, Sans had wondered why she seemed so twitchy, given this was, from his understanding, a yearly occurrence to which Rose had been party to more than a few times, but eventually he’d come to the conclusion it was a mix of factors. Wind had, in an offhanded comment, implied Rose is always like this before the annual inspections, and Sans knows it is in her personality to overthink this sort of thing, being somewhat of a perfectionist. He also suspects his own presence has influenced things a bit. Rose had seemed even more hurried in her desire to have things clean and organized after accidentally telling Sans about the inspection—perhaps, he thinks, partially out of guilt for panicking him. He knows Rose’s way of coping with elevated stress is to over-organize, to order others around. Not in a mean way, of course, she just…becomes more abrupt and to the point when trying to manage several things at once. It is part of what makes her the perfect head assistant to Gaster’s fairly lax attitude towards work that doesn’t catch his interest and…well, general lab safety.

 

But, it also manifestes in an almost brittle attitude during times like this.

 

In many ways, Sans feels a little guilty about it. He has no doubt his own worry about the situation is elevating Rose’s. She’s very much a staff mother in that sense, and the closer they get to the inspection team’s arrival, the more anxious she seems to get.

 

She’s pacing the length of the main entryway lab room, the first off from Wind’s office, and the sort of…command center of the labs, like the main cog in a machine. The labs have a haphazard shape to their construction in terms of the long hallways and branching sets of rooms, not to mention Gaster’s private level, but as far as Sans can guess, this, along with a some of the rooms directly connected to it, was probably the original lab space, and things had simply expanded over time Probably much of it by Gaster’s orders, if Sans had to guess.

 

Rose moves with a fluid grace that she seems to just naturally possess, always tall and confident in her movements, and now is no exception, but it doesn’t hide the nervous twitch in her tail and the tenseness of her shoulders as she paces, heels clicking on the floor in a repetitive beat, pausing for a moment and then starting up again.

 

It keeps Sans frozen where he is, hovering just outside the room and peering around the doorway, too nervous about what is too come to quite yet go on and be subjected to Rose’s mothering. He knows she’ll try to disguise her own worry for his sake, but something about this is soothing in its own way, to know he’s not the only one feeling apprehensive. It makes him feel less alone, less…broken.

 

“Where is everyone?” Rose snaps from back inside the room, drawing his attention once again. “I told them all they needed to be here to greet Asgore and the inspectors.”

 

“It’s still early,” Gamma says calmly from where they’re reclined against one of the now oddly neat-looking lab benches, keeping an idle eye on Papyrus as he plays with a set of construction blocks near their feet. “They won’t be here just yet, have some patience. Ficus is helping Alphys put a few last things away, Doctor Gaster is making sure Toby’s shut away in some room where he can’t cause trouble, Sans is probably taking a moment to compose himself, and Wind is…doing whatever it is she does. She is your girlfriend, you would know better than I.”

 

Rose huffs in disgruntled acknowledgement, and Gamma chuckles. “You worry too much. Proxus is an old man and has never given us much trouble so long as he didn’t spot anything too troublesome. I do not think he cares for the paperwork it would take to actually investigate us on anything. And Asgore? His personal history with Doctor Gaster means he’s willing to look the other way on many of his…eccentricities.”

 

Rose sighs, coming to a stop in her pacing and facing Gamma with her arms crossed. “I know but— “

 

 _“Rosaline,”_ Gamma says firmly. “Everything is going to be fine. We have done this for years without a problem. The labs are tidy, anything of concern to the inspectors or the guards has conveniently vanished, everyone knows to be dressed professionally, Toby is locked in Gaster’s rooms where he can’t cause mischief, and we already have a schedule for who will watch Papyrus depending on who needs to be showing the inspection group around at any given time.” Papyrus glances up at the mention of his name, offering Gamma a wide grin, and they smile quietly, leaning down and patting his skull, bringing a small smile to Sans’s own face from where he watches behind the doorway. They’d come a long way since he and Papyrus first came here. He’d never have pegged Gamma for the doting parental type when he first met them, but…even he isn’t right all the time.

 

“I _know,_ ” Rose says again, sounding faintly exasperated, but somewhat calmer. “I’m just…I’m worried about Sans. I don’t know if he can handle this.”

 

Sans winces, taking a step back, and jolts when he feels a hand touch his shoulder. He glances up to see Gaster peering over him, a finger to his lips as he winks, waiting for Rose and Gamma to resume their conversation before crouching down next to Sans.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Peachy,” Sans mumbles, and Gaster snickers.

 

“C’mon, then. Showtime.” He straightens up, offering Sans a hand. “Shall we?”

 

Latching on gratefully, Sans trails behind Gaster as he struts into the room with his usual flair, earning him, and Sans as his shadow, unamused stares from Rose and Gamma.

 

“There you are!” Rose snaps, almost looking relieved before she sends a cursory glance down Gaster’s form and blinks, suddenly seeming very world-weary as she places her hands on her hips and exhales lowly. “…What are you wearing?”

 

“What?” Gaster frowns, looking down at his outfit in confusion while Sans does the same from his position next to him. He’s not sure what’s bothering Rose so much, Gaster looks pretty much like he always does to him—his signature long, black, wide-collared coat with his lab coat pulled overtop, and his usual turtleneck sweater and slim-cut pants underneath both. Honestly, given Gaster has foregone one of his _specialty_ sweaters advertising some anime and opted for an oddly professional plain cream one, it seems like a marked improvement to Sans.

 

“The coats!” Rose says like it should be obvious, gesturing dramatically in a fashion Sans suspects she picked up from Gaster himself. “You always do this! Just once, would it kill you to wear your lab coat without that ridiculous homage to Sherlock as well!”

 

“Yes," Gaster says without hesitation.

 

“…What’s a Sherlock?” Sans asks, glancing hesitantly at Gamma.

 

“Human television show. It’s very good, we have the DVDs in the break room.”

 

“And you’ve got Sans doing it too!” Rose cries despairingly, and Sans glances down at his own attire sheepishly, his newly clean-pressed lab coat, courtesy of Rose, pulled on overtop his ever-present oversized blue coat, the one thing from his time with the human he still wears consistently.

 

…Then again, given he’d had this coat since he first woke up in Waterfall, Sans supposes it’s less so much a relic of his life with the human than a memento of his entire life’s run. As much as he remembers of his life, at least.

 

Looking back up at Rose, he shrugs, and she sighs loudly, a mournful look on her face. “Never mind. Just—“ She squints up at Gaster’s face, frowning and snatching his glasses off. “Give me those, they’re filthy. How do you even see out of them?” Polishing the glasses on the edge of her lab coat, Rose sticks them back firmly on Gaster’s nose before glancing down at his feet and grimacing. “Ok, no. No. I draw the line here, at least. Go put some real shoes on.”

 

“What’s wrong with these?” Gaster stares down at his feet, as does Sans, looking over the fuzzy dog-shaped slippers that remind Sans a little of Toby, and the bright, striped socks that peek out at the heels. “They’re comfortable.”

 

“You’re not wearing slippers at the _annual inspection,_ ” Rose says firmly, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes in irritation. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, go put on some proper footwear.”

 

“… _Fine._ ” Gaster pouts, slouching away and out of the room, brushing past Alphys and Ficus as they enter.

 

“What’s up with him?” Alphys asks, frowning as she comes to a stop and straightens out the bow on her head, a light blue to match her dress for the day beneath her neatly buttoned lab coat. Behind her, Ficus slinks past to join Gamma leaning against the lab bench, offering a juice box they procure seemingly from thin air to a pleased-looking Papyrus.

 

“I told him he has to put on shoes,” Rose says, sounding faintly amused despite her earlier disgruntlement. Looking around the room, she beams. “Good! Everyone’s here! Or…they will be once Gaster returns suitably dressed.”

 

Sans blinks, double-checking his own headcount of the room.“…What about Wind?”

 

Rose blinks. “…Fuck. She’s not hiding again, is she?”

 

“Why would she be hiding?” Sans asks, and Rose winces.

 

“She _hates_ inspections more than anyone, save maybe Gaster. She often tries to wiggle out of them.”

 

“You wound me, babe,” comes Wind’s voice, and Sans glances over as she walks causally into the room, hands stuck in the back pockets of her jeans and shoulders relaxed. “I was just doing some last-minute checks and found his nibs dithering over his shoe collection,” she says, jerking her head at a sullen Gaster as he trails after her. “I staged an intervention.”

 

Rose breathes a sigh of relief, nodding once. “Good. So. _Now_ we’re all here, dressed, and organized. The lab is…relatively tidy, Toby’s away, we— “

 

“Breathe,” Gamma reminds her quietly. “There is no need to panic.”

 

“They’re right,” Wind says jovially, coming to a stop next to Rose and throwing an arm over her shoulder. “We’re going to be fine! We do this every year.”

 

Rose nods, closing her eyes and relaxing her posture, and Wind hums, pleased. “There you go, Rosie. See? Everyone’s here and knows not to make an arse of themselves. No need to panic.” At that, she glances at Sans, winking at him in an acknowledgement the words are meant just as much for him as they are for Rose. Taking a step forward, he clings to the edge of her jacket, burying his face in her side, and she laughs, placing a hand on his skull.

 

It’s fine, Sans tells himself firmly, turning his face slightly to make eye contact with Gaster, the two of them regarding each other with silent acknowledgement.

 

It’s _fine._

 

...He pretends not to notice the nervous twitching of Wind’s tail as they wait.

 

 

xxx

 

 

They all draw straws on who has to be the one to go up and wait to bring Asgore and his people down in the elevator. When Gaster promptly loses, he deliberately steals Ficus’s straw and chews the end off so that their's is now the shortest.

 

Rose threatens to gag him with _all_ the straws for his blatant cheating.

 

Luckily, since it’s Ficus, blessed and yet cursed as they are with their unending patience for everyone else’s bullshit, they gracefully agree to be the one to go and wait.

 

…Which, naturally, leaves the rest of them to tense silence once they’ve gone.

 

Rose has everything timed out to the second, of course, because she’s meticulous like that. But, as she reminds them all, Asgore’s people are _not,_ and given that, Ficus goes up a good fifteen minutes earlier than the inspectors are slated to arrive, which somehow only adds to the immediacy of the situation as they wait for them to return.

 

Sans spends the whole time still clinging to Wind’s jacket with one hand, and Gaster’s coat with the other. The two of them have naturally shifted into a sort of protective bubble on either side of him, and while a part of him is embarrassed by it, he still takes comfort in the closeness of two people who have proven themselves to be willing to protect him even if it means coming into confrontation with Asgore. As such, he decides to accept the offered stability for what it is, keeping his face half-buried in Wind’s jacket, leaving just enough of his face clear in order to watch Papyrus, still happily occupied with his little city of blocks and Gamma distracting him, out of the corner of his eye.

 

Honestly, in an odd sense of things, he’s more worried about Papyrus than himself. He’s already fucked in the long term, but he made his choices and would do it all again for the human, he has accepted that. But Papyrus? He’s so…clean. Innocent of all this mess. In a way, Sans knows his brother’s life is better now in the labs than it was before. He has a safe, warm place to sleep at night now, a room to call his own, _real_ adults he can look up to and be protected by, and he’s even getting an education, thanks to Gamma and Rose, but that still doesn’t stop the guilt. He dragged Papyrus into this mess, and just by default of being brothers, whatever he does, he runs the risk of it coming down on Papyrus’s head as well.

 

What if these inspectors poke around too much? Start asking questions about where they come from, who they are? Sans is prepared to run, he always is. This Underground is bigger than they know, and there are places he can disappear to, at least for a while. Hell, maybe he’d just go _home_ , back to the cave, and wait till they found him.

 

He is, in more sense than one, a dead man walking, after all.

 

Papyrus, though…could he justify taking Papyrus with him? A part of Sans can’t help but wonder if Papyrus would be better off, in that scenario, being left behind to be taken and placed in some adoptive home where he will be safe and loved.

 

Of course, Sans knows that, really, all these worries are nonsensical. He has enough faith in Gaster to know that his paperwork, their fake documents, should still be up to snuff enough to fool anyone they need to, it’s not even a question.

 

…Probably.

 

But he’s…nervous. And nerves have never made him very logical in his thought processes.

 

Then again, who can blame him, given his last interaction with Asgore had involved the _savior king of Monsterkind_ trying to impale him on his trident?

 

Yeah, no, thank you, he’d like to avoid repeating that scenario again for as long as possible.

 

Sans feels a hand on the back of his neck, and jumps, glancing up and relaxing once he realizes it’s just Wind, smiling down at him with quiet understanding. “Don’t worry, sugar. We got you, yeah? Nobody messes with our boy.”

 

From his other side, Gaster chuckles. “You make it sound like we’re a cult and Sans is our fucking—child inductee.”

 

“…Since when _aren’t_ we a cult?” Wind says back, completely straight-faced, and Sans giggles wetly, ignoring the tears that burn at the corners of his eye sockets as he pressed his face back into Wind’s jacket, focusing on the rough fabric, her warm hand against the base of his head, long fingers idly petting his skull.

 

He can do this.

 

Slowly, there comes the sounds of footsteps along the hallway, then muffled slightly across the wide rugs of Wind’s office. First the click of Ficus’s low-heeled boots, which Sans recognizes instinctually, and then other, less familiar footsteps—the heavy thumps of guards’ armor, the shuffling slide of work shoes, probably the inspectors, the formal clicking of thin heels, proper ones, and one last pair even slower and heavier than the rest…Asgore.

 

The door opens hesitantly, and Ficus steps in. There’s a cool, professional set to their shoulders and in their gait as they walk through the door, but the pinched expression on their face and the thin, nervous set of their mouth sets Sans on edge instantly. Ficus doesn’t speak—aside from to Gamma, maybe, Sans isn’t really sure how that one works between them—and as such their face is always expressive, in order to convey what they cannot with words.

 

And here their face, as much as they try to hide it, is saying something loud and clear. Something is wrong, not what they expected.

 

The others file in behind them, about what Sans had guessed based off of the footsteps. Four guards first, who quickly step to the sides of the door and hover back, stances ridged and military in their positions, and then a couple of monsters, one mousy-looking and small, the other overly tall and lean, like an overgrown tree, in business-looking attire, clutching clipboards and toolkits and tape measures, followed closely behind by a monster with a haughty demeanor that instantly sets Sans on edge. She holds a clipboard of her own, clutched in one hand with bright red manicured nails resting on top of it, and twirls a pen in the other with a kind of vicious delight, as if she can’t wait to write something down about how awful they are. Her white hair is pulled back in a tight bun, not a strand loose, her four icy blue pupil-less eyes narrowed in sharp precision, and she is dressed quite a bit like Rose, save Rose’s warm, if intimidating, demeanor and Rose’s practical work heels with their low height, instead sporting grey pumps with sharp-edge points on the heel, to match her grey suit top and skirt that stand in contrast against her light blue-green skin. There’s a thin white belt around her waist, hugging the top of her skirt, and while her assumed coworkers have measuring tools clipped to their belts, she has, with what Sans recognizes with a kind of queasy horror, a lightweight set of magic inhibitors hooked to hers.

 

Objectively, Sans wouldn’t argue that she is a very pretty monster, but there is also something vaguely terrifying about her, something cold. Her eyes move to him and he shivers, moving further behind Wind.

 

He barely has a moment to stew in his nervousness at her entrance, though, because a few seconds later the last monster comes into the room, so large he has to stoop to get through the doorway, and if Sans wasn’t hiding behind Wind before he certainly is now, desperately hanging onto her legs while the hand Wind has on his back turns into a fist, clinging to the fabric of his lab coat firmly, as if she is afraid someone is about to forcefully yank him away from her.

 

_Asgore._

His gait is cautious as he steps fully into the room, shoulders hunched slightly and lips thin as if he can sense how distinctly unwelcome his presence is here. The woman with the clipboard casts a bored look at him, and he winces, straightening up slightly and looking to Gaster with hopeful, tentative enthusiasm. “Gaster, my old friend.”

 

“Asgore,” Gaster says, voice sharp in a way Sans hasn’t heard since their last little encounter with the king, and he watches as Gaster’s eyes flicker to the monster in the heels, narrowing in distrust. “Where’s Proxus?”

 

“He retired,” the monster says without preamble, not even sparing a glance at Gaster as she frowns down at her clipboard. “I’m his successor. Melaina Amidala, pleased to meet you.”

 

Despite the cool professionalism in her voice, Sans gets the impression she is distinctly _less_ than pleased to have to deal with them.

 

Rose blinks, frowning slightly. “We weren’t informed of this.”

 

“You don’t need to be,” Melaina says shortly, casting a disparaging look at Rose. “You’re not privy to choosing who will be inspecting you, we’re a separate office. That’s the point of an independent inspection—and to that matter it’s come to my attention Proxus became a little…lax in his waning age. I hope you are aware that _I_ will not be. I’ve heard enough rumors about this lab’s disregard for standard procedures and the law as it is.”

 

Above Sans, Wind scowls and crosses her arms. “Inspect as much as you want. We’re above board.”

 

Melaina looks at her coolly. “…Quite. According to my records you, among a hailstorm of other things, have…” She glances down at her clipboard idly. “ _Two_ minors under employment here, and a third just hanging around?” Sans winces and glances over at Papyrus, who is watching Melaina with wide, confused eyes. “That sounds very _above board_ to me.”

 

“It is,” Gamma cuts in, picking up Papyrus and glaring. “The paperwork is all accounted for and approved.”

 

The corner of Melaina’s mouth twitches up, and Sans tenses. The more she speaks, the more he gets the sense his initial fear of her was not misplaced. “We’ll see. So.” She grins, a sharp sliver of white against her darker skin. “Shall we begin?”

 

 

xxx

 

 

It barely takes Melaina a minute to seize charge of the main work table in the room, suggesting they all take a seat with a tone that sounds more like an order as she spreads out her paperwork, idly giving orders to her assistants as she shuffles through documents, not bothering to even spare them a glance once they’re all seated. “Triscan, Loria, you and the guards can start safety inspections in the hall, and the…secretarial office, was it? Whichever room we just came from.”

 

“Security office,” Wind whispers petulantly, getting an elbow in the side from Rose on the seat next to her as Melaina ignores them both, flipping through her papers with heightened scrutiny. Idly, from his seat in Wind’s lap, where he’d been yanked unceremoniously when he’d gone to get his own chair, Sans recognizes a few of the documents as tax and citizenship records.

 

“Your highness, you’d best take a seat too,” Melaina says after a moment of silence once her coworkers have hurried off, glancing up at Asgore as she sets down a last couple papers and her pen. “There’s a lot to go through.”

 

“Are you sure?” Asgore asks with a kind of hesitancy that is still unfamiliar and disconcerting, to say the least, to Sans. “I don’t understand what could take so long to go over.”

 

“My pre-inspection research threw up a lot of red flags.” Melaina’s smile is vacantly cold as she speaks. “Things that I felt warranted discussion that Proxus may have missed or…neglected to report upon properly. And I’m—well, I'm very thorough in my work. That’s why Proxus’s supervisor nominated me as his replacement, after all.”

 

“Ah, yes…well,” Asgore mumbles, awkwardly perching on the undersized seat provided to him and sending an uncomfortable-looking glance towards Sans, who takes the opportunity to scowl pointedly at him, emboldened in the safety of Wind’s arms.

 

“So…” Melaina says, flipping open the top folder in front of her. “Employment records for the Royal Lab staff…Head Scientist, Doctor Wingdings Seraph—“

 

“W.D. Gaster.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“My name is _Gaster,”_ Gaster says with a scowl.

 

“Ah yes your…middle name.” Melaina says, sounding bored. “Head Scientist, Doctor Wingdings _Gaster_ Seraph. Listed assistant employees…Doctor Rosaline Flores, Gamma Verde, Ficus Arbor…Nimbus Cumulus.” She finishes, sparing a glance at Wind with something too close to fascination for Sans’s comfort.

 

“Yes,” Gaster says tersely.

 

“All those assistants, and yet only one with an actual college doctorate. In fact,” Melaina’s gaze slides over to Gamma and Ficus, “you have employed two high school dropouts? Not to mention Ms. Cumulus and her…history.”

 

“The Royal Labs have long acknowledged that the most brilliant minds often aren’t suited to standard education,” Gaster mutters, arms crossed.

 

“More like your predecessor trained you into this position and you chose whoever you liked for your staff?” Melaina asks mildly, and next to Gaster, Rose flushes in indignation, opening her mouth to object only for Melaina to continue. “Is _that_ why you have two children employed under you as a means of ‘alternative education’?”

 

“Alphys and Sans were both exceptional cases,” Gaster says firmly. “Alphys’s father signed off on the agreement as did her former school and the Board of Education—“

 

“Ah, yes, I have that here,” Melaina says, pulling out a form with what Sans recognizes as Alphys’s picture on it. “Alternative education agreement for Alphys Eide, signed by her father Doctor Rict Eide, along with testimonials from her previous teachers and the board director’s signature.”

 

“See? All in order.”

 

“Incredibly,” Melaina says, slight smile almost smug. “Though that’s not where I have my concerns.” She pulls out another set of papers. “Sans and Papyrus…Seraph. The older boy is both your legal dependent and your employee under this alternative education agreement?”

 

“I’m the boys’ legal guardian, yes,” Gaster says, and Sans startles sharply, whirling around to stare at Gaster, who glances at him quickly and shakes his head just slightly. Taking the unspoken hint, Sans forces himself to relax, turning back around before Melaina, busy shuffling her papers, notices.

 

_Trust._

 

Trust goes both ways, he has to trust that Gaster knows what he’s doing.

 

Still, Sans can’t stop himself from sparing one quick glance at the others though, and, aside from Alphys, none of the _adults_ look surprised at least.

 

Which means they likely knew about it beforehand.

 

 _God._ Did that mean they’d known the truth about him and Papyrus and their history all along? The thought makes Sans feel sick, the idea of all of them knowing he was nobody, a child belonging to no one, taking over his mind.

 

Never mind the fact that Gaster had apparently put his bullshit paperwork skills to use again, without telling Sans, to make himself his…

 

His parent?

 

No…legal guardian. There's a difference.

 

Whatever. Given they’d _just_ had a conversation about honesty it is still annoying.

 

Or. Something like that.

 

“Funny,” Melaina muses, catching Sans’s attention once more. “There seems to be indicators of previous records for Sans’s employment aside from these ones, but I couldn’t…seem to find them.”

 

“Ah, well, paperwork,” Gaster says cheerfully. “It’s always seeming to disappear.”

 

“…Apparently,” Melaina says with a scowl.

 

“Melaina,” Asgore interjects quietly. “I reviewed the paperwork myself after it came to my…” Asgore’s eyes flicker to Sans, and he can’t help but instinctively hunch in on himself with the weight of the king’s gaze directed on him, “attention that Sans was working there some months ago, and I found no fault with it.”

 

“I’m aware, your highness,” Melaina says calmly. “I just worry you might be a little biased due to your, ah…history with Doctor Seraph.”

 

“Ooooh, our _history_. Scandalous, that.”

 

“Gaster, please,” Asgore sighs, and Gaster sticks his tongue out at him.

 

“Ms. Amidala,” Rose says, voice all sharp, professional steel. “Unless you’ve found a legitimate _legal_ problem with Sans’s records, perhaps we should move on?”

 

Melaina tilts her head in acknowledgment, and places down the files Sans can guess are on himself in her hands. “I’m merely expressing my concerns over the employment choices Doctor Seraph has made.” Her eyes flicker to Gaster. “I understand his highness granted you autonomy over the proceedings of your lab, but I just find it a little unorthodox that, immediately after this agreement was signed off on, you kicked out your whole staff and worked alone for over a decade, and the only assistant staff you’ve picked up since have been your current ones.”

 

Gaster bristles. “I’m picky about who I’ll work with. I only take the very best in the Underground, even if that means a long search.” Next to him, Rose beams, straightening out her lab coat abashedly.

 

The corner of Melaina’s mouth twitches upward, and Sans feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. “The best in the business. Two children, one of whom is your legal dependent, a pair of high school dropouts, a woman whose college debt you bailed out, and a disgraced ex-Royal Guard.”

 

Above him, Wind flinches, and when Sans glances up, her eyes are shut tight, ears laid back and pressed against her head. Across from them, Melaina smiles smugly.

 

“Your current employment records list you as a…security guard. Is that right, Ms. Cumulus?”

 

“Yes,” Wind mumbles quietly. “I do some secretarial work as well.”

 

Melaina raises an eyebrow. “I see. I suppose I’m just…” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she looks at Wind. “Surprised that the infamous Nimbus Cumulus, last of the Cumulus clan, ended up as a…secretary.”

 

Gaster rises out of his chair, looking furious, but before he can open his mouth, Wind cuts him to the punch. “My past is none of your business,” she snaps. “My life is my own—and my name is Wind.”

 

“Not legally, it isn’t.”

 

Sans squeaks in surprise as Wind jumps up out of her seat, sending him sliding to the ground as she stands up. “Yes, actually, it _is_. My legal name is Nimbus _Wind_ Cumulus, you idiotic, prideful little _bitch_.”

 

“Wind! Control yourself!” Rose snaps, and Wind instantly recoils, taking a step back and glancing awkwardly at Rose. Across the table, Melaina’s cheeks tint pink in anger, and she sharply stands.

 

“Funny, because you’re listed as plain old Nimbus Cumulus on your arrest record for _attempted regicide_.”

 

Wind stumbles back as if she’s been struck, her skin an ashy, pale grey, and in turn Gaster takes a step forward, looming over the table at Melaina.

 

“Those records were sealed.”

 

“And I opened them,” Melaina drawls, a small, sharp grin pulling at her face. “Like I said, I’m _very_ thorough with my work.”

 

Around the room, there’s silence for a moment as the two sides of the room study each other cautiously, and then from off to the side a thin book flies into the air, smacking Melaina firmly in the face, prompting a startled shriek from her as she stumbles back. From underneath a nearby table, Papyrus pops up, and Sans can’t stop the grin from stretching across his face as his brother throws his fists up in the air in a battle cry. “Leave Wind alone, you meanie!”

 

Melaina’s four eyes narrow, hands curling into fists, and in an instant Sans is on guard, ready to call his magic—to hell with professionalism—if she dares take a step towards his brother. “You little—“

 

“That’s enough, Melaina,” Asgore says, face grave as he also rises from his chair, save one guilty-looking glance he spares at Wind’s trembling form.

 

“Your highness!” Melaina whirls around, staring up at Asgore in something close to frustration. “These people have made a mockery of government-sanctioned scientific work! None of them are fit for the job and I don’t understand why you’ve allowed Doctor Seraph this much power over—“

 

“I said that’s _enough_!” Asgore roars, and Sans can’t stop the quiet shriek he lets out, instinctively diving behind Gaster and clinging to the edge of his coat. Gaster glances down, glare relaxing as a hand comes to rest protectively on Sans’s shoulder.

 

Melaina flinches, taking a step back and ducking her head. “I…forgive me, your highness. I forgot my place.” Glancing once at Sans and the others on the other side of the table, she scoops up her files and turns away. “I’ll go…check how inspection work is going in the other room.” Melaina all but flees from the room, and once she’s through the door, Asgore slumps, turning back to the rest of them with a pained smile.

 

“Apologies. I’ve known Melaina since she was young and…she’s an ambitious and hard-working woman, but she does have her faults.”

 

“Clearly,” Gamma snaps, crossing over to Papyrus and picking him up, before resettling him on their hip. Sans casts a quick glance at his brother and is relieved to see he doesn’t seem frightened, glaring viciously at Asgore with his arms crossed, imitating the stances of the adults around him.

 

Asgore winces, and his eyes flicker to Wind, still standing back from the rest of them as if poised to run. “Are you alright, Cadet—“ He coughs awkwardly. “Sorry. Nimbus?”

 

“Cadet, Nimbus, it doesn’t matter what you call me, the person who used those names died years ago. I’ve told you that before,” Wind says, eerily calm, though Sans sees her hands clench into fists at her sides before she stuffs them into the pockets of her jacket, feigning relaxation as she slumps her shoulders. “I don’t think me being in the same room as Melaina is advisable right now, so I think it would be best if I’m not present for the inspections. Excuse me.”

 

She turns, walking briskly out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator, and after a moment of hesitation, sparing one glance up at Gaster, who nods at him, Sans runs after her.

 

Better with Wind than in a room with Asgore, if nothing else. He’s seen more than enough of the monster who haunts his nightmares as an all-encompassing specter for one day.

 

 

xxx

 

 

It takes Sans an annoyingly long while to find Wind again.

 

Ironically, despite only waiting a few seconds before heading after her, Sans loses Wind completely the moment he goes looking for her. He walks through the main hallway of the labs, idly popping his head into the rooms she’s most likely to be hiding in, before he inevitably ends up at the elevator.

 

He’s contemplating whether or not Wind might be hanging out with Toby in Gaster’s private lab—which wouldn’t be unusual given how oddly fond of the dog she is, especially in comparison to Rose—when his eyes fall to the second button inside the elevator.

 

He’d never asked where it led and had never been informed on any other occasion, and while he isn’t as such expressly banned from going wherever it leads, he’s also never been shown whatever is down there, during his initial tour or otherwise, and so Sans has always held to the sense it isn’t an area particularly important to his place in the labs, and never thought much more on it.

 

After all, given Gaster’s propensity for secrets and magic locks and the like, it wouldn’t necessarily surprise Sans to find he has  _another_ secret floor all to his own where he hides crazy, impossible things he’s built.

 

Still, now, when he’s looking distinctly for Wind, the faded blue paint of the color sticks out to him, and on gut instinct, he carefully reaches out and presses it, the elevator shuddering for a moment as if hesitating before the doors slip shut and it begins lowering.

 

Blinking in vague astonishment, Sans steps back and waits for the descent to finish. Ah well, if he’s wrong he’ll just say he went down here looking for Wind. It's the truth after all, and so he doubts Gaster would be too upset with him.

 

Especially not after…all that.

 

He’s not sure what he expects to find at the bottom, except perhaps Wind, but it’s definitely not what it ends up being.

 

Well…he does technically find Wind, so he wasn’t all wrong.

 

Sort of.

 

When the doors open, he steps out into a wide room with a high ceiling and thick-looking stone walls that he suspects would muffle any sound even to Gaster’s private lab a floor above it. Crowded around the edges are a variety of things—strange clutters of machinery that definitely have Gaster’s signature in their design, a couple fancy-looking computers, also with Gaster’s touch in their look, and a few wall mounts for swords, shields, and other pieces of weaponry that’d look more at home in a Royal Guard training facility.

 

There’s also something that looks uncomfortably like a detonator sitting in the corner on top of an old piano, which Sans opts to ignore for the sake of his sanity.

 

In the center of the room, Wind circles what look to Sans like robotic fighting dummies, their designs like something out of one of Gaster’s worst animes, her wings flared as she moves with lithe grace around them. It’s almost dance-like as she ducks under the dull-ended spears they swing, face drawn in concentration and eyes narrowed as she follows their movements. Sans watches, mouth agape in astonishment, as one swings its spear down towards her and she arches back, ducking down as a wing comes up in front of her and the familiar white-blue magic that reminds Sans of ice crystals scrawls up the feathers, the spear bouncing off harmlessly when it collides. As the dummy reels back from the recoil, Wind strikes forward, the pattern achingly similar to what she did to disarm Asgore that time in the Royal Gardens to protect Sans all those months ago, but this time, when the dummy stumbles, she quickly draws a knife from a sheath on the back of her waistband, the blade lighting up with her signature blue-white magic as she drives it into the dummy’s chest. Immediately it falls, and Wind straightens up, looking pleased before the blunt end of the spear of the other dummy whacks her in the side, sending her sprawling onto the ground with a surprised cry.

 

Alarmed, Sans straightens up from his lax observational position, ready to run to Wind. He barely takes a step, though, before Wind is back up, wings flapping as she shoots up and slams both her feet into the chest of the dummy, knocking it back to the ground before she descends on it, slamming the heel of her foot so hard against its head that sparks fly before it seemingly powers off, the lights nestled among its joints growing dim.

 

Hesitantly, Sans takes a few steps forward, eyes trained on Wind as she breathes heavily, her gaze still pointed down at the dummy below her, but her eyes distant and unseeing.

 

“…Wind?” he asks carefully, and when she doesn’t respond, he takes another few careful steps closer to her. “Wind?”

 

There’s still no answer, and after a moment of hesitation, he tries— “Nimbus?”

 

“God, _don’t_ call me that!” she snaps, whirling around to face him, eyes burning and expression furious. Sans stumbles back, tripping over his own feet and falling backwards onto the ground with a surprised shout.

 

Blinking, Wind straightens up, eyes narrowing on Sans for a moment before a glimmer of recognition seems to run through them and her posture relaxes, eyes falling closed. “…Sans. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“…It’s alright,” he says carefully, pushing himself up on his hands into a sitting position, idly crossing his legs. “I did startle you.”

 

“Yes, well.” She tilts her head. “I should have better control of my reactions.”

 

“Why?” Sans asks quietly. “Because you were a guard?”

 

She slumps, nodding before she flops down, sitting on the ground across from Sans with a distasteful glance at the broken dummy behind her, nose wrinkling when she looks at it. “…Yes.”

 

Sans nods once. “I did wonder, y’know. What with Asgore calling you ‘Cadet’ and all.”

 

Wind winces, bowing her head. “Yes, well…if this changes how you look at me, or if you don’t want to be around me anymore, I completely understand—“

 

“I don’t care,” Sans says firmly, cutting her off. Like hell he’ll let her think that way. “Wind, I don’t care if you used to be a guard, a shop owner, or a flipping Froggit! I _know_ you. You’ve literally gone up against Asgore to protect me before, which is definitely not something any Royal Guard would do. I trust you, knowing what you used to be doesn’t change that.”

 

Wind hesitates, biting her lip. “…Really? Just like that?”

 

“Um, yeah?” Sans says, feeling almost amused at how boggled Wind seems by his trust in her. “Look, Wind, I’m not…” He pauses, trying to think of the right words. “I haven’t lived a life with much trust, okay? It’s just not in my nature. And that’s not bad, it’s kept me safe in the past, but it’s not necessarily _good_ either. It’s just what it is. But…” Almost unconsciously, he brings a hand up to the memory pendant beneath his sweater, memories of dark hair and pale skin and wide smiles crawling up unbidden in his mind. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes you just need to have a little faith in people your heart says you can trust. No matter who they are, what species, where they come from…there are people worth trusting, because they’re _them_.”

 

The corner of Wind’s mouth twitches, and she sighs. “You make it sounds so easy.”

 

“Hey, I never said trust everyone.” Sans laughs. “I trust most of the Underground about as far as I can throw them. Or…” He winces, thinking of the ice-cold feeling of his magic when he grabs another’s soul. “Probably less than that, honestly. But…I trust the people here, in the labs.”

 

Wind raises an eyebrow. “Even an old ex-guard.”

 

“Look, I’m not going to say I’m not curious,” Sans acknowledges with a sigh. “How you’d go from the Guard to aligning yourself with Gaster I have no clue, but it’s not like I’m going to make you tell me. I’d still trust you regardless.

 

Slowly, a small smile climbs across Wind’s face. “…Thanks Sans.” Grimacing, she glances up and around the room. “So I see you found my secret hideout.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Sans says, casting another appraising look at the room around him. “What is this place, anyways?”

 

Wind sighs, tilting her head back and staring at the ceiling idly. “Gaster built it for me when I came to work with him. Well…more like renovated some old storage units to make this place. Said it was my place to…keep my skills in shape.”

 

“So he built those, then?” Sans asks, nodding to the crumpled training dummies.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Wind says, startling slightly, before holding out a hand, her magic curling around her fingers as the dummies react instantly to it, sitting up as the crushed parts of their frames begin to knit back together. Pushing out her hand, Wind points to the corner, and the dummies stand, walking slowly towards the wall as their bodies reform. “They’re repairable. Gaster made them to respond to my magic.” Idly, she waves to the rest of the room. “He built pretty much everything in here, actually. Kept bursting in with diagrams for new ideas. I think he liked it, building something for someone else to use, y’know? All those long days, just me and him down here tinkering…” She smiles fondly, eyes distant. “I was his first assistant, you know. Before Rose, or Gamma and Ficus, or Alphys. He just…picked me up and decided to keep me.” She glances at Sans, raising an eyebrow. “Kind of like with you. He really…” She sighs. “He saved my life.”

 

Wind looks down, expression vacant and sad, and on instinct, Sans reaches forward, grabbing her hand with his own smaller one. “I know what you mean. He…” He thinks of a cave that had been a home once, and a story of children from long ago. “He saved mine too.”

 

Wind laughs quietly. “I think that’s just…what he does. W.D. Gaster, savior of the lost souls of the Underground.”

 

Sans shivers, shaking his head slightly at the sudden chill he feels at the words. “It’s…it’s alright, you know,” he says. “To have a past you want to forget, to come from a broken place.” Wind glances at him, and he smiles. “Broken things can be repaired. They won’t necessarily ever be the same, and their… their cracks will still be with them, but…they can be whole again, or close to it. At least…I hope so.”

 

Wind blinks, and then chuckles, catching Sans’s wrist and drawing him in, hugging him tight as her chin rests on the top of his head. “You really are something else, aren’t you, Sans?”

 

“I try,” Sans says, and Wind snickers, before frowning lightly.

 

“Ugh, I suppose we should go back up there eventually, be present and professional or…whatever. God…maybe we can just stay and hide here? I don’t want to deal with Melaina again. She’s always been high-strung, but she’s grown up to be a right prat.”

 

Sans blinks, twisting in Wind’s hold to glance up at her in surprise. “Did you know her?”

 

“Mmmm…” Wind hums, tilting her head in thought. “I wouldn’t say I knew her, more like knew _of_ her. I spent a lot of time in the castle when I was growing up, and she became an intern under Proxus’s people not long before I started my Guard training. We never interacted much, but we crossed paths from time to time.” She sighs. “She’s not a _bad_ person, really. A bit blunt, but she’s a hard worker. From what I know, she pretty much pulled herself up through the social ranks from the poorest part of the Capital by the skin of her teeth, with no one to help her through. To her, your ability to follow the rules and do your work should be what defines your success. A bunch of monsters specially recruited and circumventing all the rules of order like us are exactly what she can’t stand. Of course…” Wind pauses. “The only thing she hates more are people born and groomed into a position picked out for them. In that sense, I can understand why she dislikes me so much.”

 

Wind lowers her head, and Sans hesitates, remembering what Gaster had told him about Wind’s species. “Gaster said your people…the Currentwalkers, were a military community.”

 

“Yes,” Wind says quietly. “They were, a long time ago. My mother used to tell me stories her own parents had told her, and so on back, about the Currentwalkers of the surface.” She pauses, glancing down at Sans, who nods eagerly for her to continue. “They were supposed to be…incredible warriors, unlike anything else. There is an old myth passed down through the generations, about the creation of the first Currentwalker, one that my mother told me about. It’s said that many lifetimes ago, back on the surface, there were a monster and a human that fell in love. They were so dear to each other that they couldn’t stand to be apart, and so the monster gave their soul to the human, and borne from the two souls together was one creature of monster love and human durability. The story goes that this was the first of the Currentwalkers, and their descendants inherited some of the human power of that first ancestor, allowing them more stable physical forms and strong magic.” She smiles distantly, shaking her head. “It’s just an old wives’ tale, of course, but I used to love it when I was little. It gave me quite the fascination with humans, growing up. The idea of such incredible beings…my mother told me once that, aside from a creature of both human and monster soul, the most powerful presences out there, to rival that of Boss Monsters, are human Magicians, with magic like a monster but the body and soul of a human.”

 

Sans hums. “I think the Temmies told me something similar once, about humans.”

 

Winds laughs slightly. “They _would_ know that. It’s all just ancient stories now, but there _were_ supposed to be humans that controlled magic once. Like humanity’s equivalent of a Boss Monster in a way, though I suppose they’re likely all gone now. They were supposed to be incredibly rare, since in exchange for having such durable souls humans mostly lacked the ability to perform magic, and from what I could figure from old journals on the War, humans turned on them not long after they did Monsters, fearing the power of their magic. Still, they did manage to find some to close the barrier, so who knows.”

 

“You really did read up a lot on all this, didn’t you?”

 

“Like I said, it fascinated me,” Wind says, shrugging. “I think humans fascinate many monsters, it’s just for many of them it’s driven primarily out of fear.”

 

“…But not you?” Sans asks, unable to help himself.

 

“I don’t think so?” Wind says. “I think for me it was always just mostly curiosity, among…other things.” She smiles lightly, winking at Sans. “I suppose that’s part of what intrigued me about you, the first time we met. There’s something very…human about you Sans, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

 

Sans thinks of the human he called family, and nods. “I know, and I’m glad…that you think that. There’s a lot of times I think it’d do Monsterkind some good to try being a little—a little human.”

 

“Yes, perhaps it would,” Wind says with a sigh, and when Sans glances up at her, she shakes her head. “It’s…a long story, but just know I agree.”

 

Sans smiles slightly. “It’s okay to tell me, if you want to. I want to know.” He tilts his head, trying to think of the right words. “…For a long time I believed I was alone in how I saw our world, how I saw humanity—before Gaster, at least. I have a stake in this fight, but there’s a lot I don’t know, about what came before me, about why you’re here, all of you, and I want to know. I want to understand, if you’ll let me.”

 

Wind pauses, looking down at her hands. “I don’t think I can tell you.”

 

Sans deflates, but nods. “I—“

 

“But,” Wind says firmly, cutting him off. “…Maybe I can show you?”

 

Startling, Sans glances up, looking over at Wind in confusion, and freezes when he sees her hand offered to him, palm up as the white-blue of her magic crawls across it. “There was another reason why Currentwalkers made such good commanding soldiers, in the old days. There’s one special thing we can do with our magic…” Her eyes flicker up to Sans’s, and she grins nervously. “We can show people our memories.”

 

Sans lifts his hand, holding it just above Wind’s, hesitating, and glances back at her, getting a slight nod in reply. “It’s ok. You wanted to know, right? I’ve…” She bites her lip. “I’ve never done this before, not even with Gaster. I told him about stuff, but it never…” She breathes out slowly, closing her eyes and nodding again. “I want to show you, if you want to know. I think you’re the right person I know my…to know _Nimbus’s_ story.”

 

She waits, hand offered to Sans, and he dwells on it just a second longer, studying the icy curls of her magic, before he makes a decision.

  

“…Alright,” he whispers, and with that, he takes Wind’s hand, and everything goes white.

 

 

\\\\\\\\\

 

 

You are born Nimbus Wind Cumulus, named after your great-great-grandmother, Nimbus Aluri Cumulus, first of the Underground’s Royal Guards, as is the tradition in your family to be named after the great warriors of your ancestry.

 

You are the daughter of Strato Neptune Cumulus, honorable Captain of the Royal Guard. You are her first child, and, as your father dies when you are a baby and your mother has no plans to remarry, her only child.

 

You and your mother are the only living members of the Cumulus line, and the only of your kind left, and you are your mother’s pride and joy. She raises you with tales of the feats of your ancestors, and of your namesake.

 

It is a strong name, Nimbus, she tells you often. Be proud of it.

 

Wind is an odd choice for your middle name, departing from the names of Currentwalker tradition, but your mother says she wanted something unique, something just for you, a true child of the Underground. It is your special nickname when you are at home together in the quiet—little Windy-Loo, warrior princess of the living room.

 

You are still little the first time you visit the castle. It is a school holiday, and the babysitter is sick, and so your mother takes you with her, just for a little bit while she gets some paperwork to take back home.

 

She leaves you in the castle nursery, and it takes you less than five minutes to ditch the staff.

 

Really, it’s their fault for not keeping a better eye on the vent covers.

 

Of course, it also takes you less than five minutes to get lost.

 

You end up wandering into an indoor garden, filled to the brim with the prettiest yellow flowers, and that is where you find him, stooped among the flowers with his watering can.

 

He’s not wearing his crown, when he spots you and waves, and you’re too young to know what the king looks like beyond the concept that one exists, so you wave back.

 

“Hello,” he tells you, voice low and booming, but also soft and quiet and safe, like your mother’s is. “Who are you?”

 

“Nimbus,” you tell him.

 

“That’s a nice name, mine is Asgore.”

 

Asgore. You mull it over in your mind. You like it. It’s a good name, like yours.

 

“Are you lost, Nimbus?” Asgore asks, and though your chin wobbles and you are close to tears, you shake your head.

 

“No. I don’t get lost.”

 

“Really?” he asks, words hinting at amusement. “And why is that?”

 

“Because…” You flush and look down, pulling on the end of your tail nervously. “Warrior princesses don’t get lost!”

 

Asgore tilts his head, and hums. “No, I suppose they don’t, do they? However…” He smiles. “Warrior princesses also need a crown, do they not? I’m afraid I don’t have a real one here, but perhaps a flower crown would do instead?” He gestures to the flowers at your feet, and you nod, giggling wetly as you wipe at your eyes.

 

That is how your mother finds you, a good couple hours later, sitting amongst the flowers with this large, kind monster, giggling as you braid flowers into his hair, your own flower crown perched delicately upon your head.

 

“Nimbus!” she says, relief coloring her voice. “There you are.” She turns to Asgore, and her eyes turn apologetic. “I’m so sorry, your highness. She’s a bit of a handful and wanders away easily.”

 

“It’s no trouble at all,” Asgore says, smiling down at you and patting you on the head. “I had fun.”

 

“Do we have to go, Mother?” you whine, pouting. “I haven’t finished Mr. Asgore’s hair yet.”

 

Your mother gapes, and Asgore chuckles. “We’re playing princesses.”

 

You nod enthusiastically, and your mother smiles, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. “ _Now_ , Nimbus. I’m sure King Asgore is very busy.”

 

“You’re a king?” you ask, confused, and Asgore shakes his head.

 

“Thanks to you, today I’m a princess.” He winks. “You’d best listen to your mother, now, though.”

 

You stand up, hesitating. “…Can I come back? I like it here.”

 

“No, Nimbus,” your mother says, sighing.

 

“It’s alright, Strato,” Asgore says, voice warm. “I would actually like it very much if Nimbus wanted to come back and visit now and again.” He looks down at you, and smiles. “Perhaps next time we can have a princess picnic with tea?”

 

You gasp in delight, and grab your mother’s hand. “Can I, Mother?”

 

“Well…” Your mother bites her lip, poorly hiding a smile. “I suppose if King Asgore is alright with it, I don’t see why not.”

 

And that’s how Sunday tea at Asgore’s becomes a part of your life.

 

You come to love Asgore almost as much as you do your mother. He dotes on you, buying you presents and offering you tea parties with little cakes and triangle sandwiches with the crusts cut off, just the way you like them, and letting you decorate him in flower crowns and butterfly hairclips.

 

Over time, Mr. Asgore turns into "Uncle Asgore" without your notice, becoming a second person you can turn to in need, and your first friend. And things are good, for a while.

 

Your mother kills herself when you’re seven going on eight.

 

The warning signs come six months previously, when your mother comes home from work late with ashen skin and bags under her eyes. That same night an announcement goes out around the Underground that the third human soul has been claimed, a decisive step towards victory for Monsterkind.

 

You cheer when you hear the news, bouncing between the sofa cushions and pretending you are a great knight just like your mother, cutting down a ferocious human. Your mother watches you, eyes vacant, and then goes upstairs and locks herself in her room. Later, when you knock and she doesn’t answer, you press your ear to the door, and you can hear her crying.

 

After that, she’s empty. She gets up each day, goes to work, but there’s no life behind her eyes, and slowly, she begins to forget things, forget _you_. You try to cheer her up at first, but she’s always so sad when she looks at you, crying when you climb into her lap and hug her, and so instead you learn to make your own dinner, run your own bath, so that you don’t have to bother her.

 

You think, if you can’t comfort her, at least you can _not_ be a nuisance instead.

 

Sundays with Asgore become your saving grace, a time when there is warmth and light and ready-made food to eat, and over time you find yourself straying over to the castle more and more after school, finding excuses to bother Asgore if only so that you don’t have to go home to the emptiness.

 

Until one day your mother gets up and leaves the house, still in her pajamas, without even a glance at you as she walks out the door. She walked to Waterfall, the guards who get the call from the witnesses tell you, walked to Waterfall and off the edge into the abyss.

 

There’s no way to call it an accident. No monster walks to the edge of Waterfall and straight up to the abyss without a damn good reason—and your mother could fly, anyways.

 

You are left alone, sitting in a too-big plastic chair in the local Guard facility’s office, until Asgore comes for you.

 

“I won’t let her go into foster care,” Asgore says to the guards there when he picks you up. “It’s my fault this happened to her mother anyway.”

 

You don’t ask him what he means by that, but you never forget the words.

 

It was the third human, Asgore tells you later on. When she went to capture the human with Asgore and the other guards, she saw something horrible because of it, because of the human, and that was what made her so sad.

 

After that, you swear death to all humans, anger burning through your veins and into your words, as Asgore watches you, pain in his eyes.

 

The human is what stole your mother from you, and so humans must pay.

 

Asgore is the one who raises you, after that. But as much as he is kind to you—more than kind, really—there is still a barrier that keeps you from seeing him as a parent. A distance, held more by him than by you. He sets up a cot for you in the corner of the living room—just temporarily, he tells you, until something else can be figured out—but you never feel quite welcome in his little cottage house. There’s a stillness there, a sense of lost time that you can’t seem to touch. Despite there being four chairs around the kitchen table, you find you don’t feel right sitting in any of them, and even though there’s two spare rooms in Asgore’s home, one even marked for renovations, the doors are always shut.

 

You open the door to one once, curious, and barely get a glimpse of a small bed and a box of toys before Asgore leans over you and shuts the door firmly, face stern as he ushers you away.

 

You give it four months on that cot and your pile of belongings in the corner of the living room before you give up and go to the new Captain of the Guard, who you know was a friend of your mother’s, and ask if there’s somewhere else you could go.

 

The Captain calls a friend in Social Services, who in turn tells you not to make up stories, and to be grateful the king has taken an interest in you.

 

A week later, you run away and hide in a group home in Hotland for three days before Asgore find you. He hugs you tightly, crying, and asks you why you’d do such a thing.

 

“I just wanted to go somewhere I belonged,” you tell him, and his face crumples.

 

You go back with Asgore, but you spend most days away from his house. You wander the castle when you’re not at school, helping the servants, exploring the old corridors. You sleep wherever you want—a spare bed in the servants wing, a tree, a closet where blankets are stored. Eventually, you get used to your cot in the corner of Asgore’s living room too. You still don’t feel welcome there, but things could be worse.

 

The lost child, they take to calling you, in hushed voices in the Castle corridors when they think you can't hear.

 

“Is that Asgore’s child?” someone new will sometimes ask.

 

“Nah,” will come the voice of someone else. “Just a stray he looks after.”

 

You make your life in the secrets of the castle—the wandering, wide hallways, and the vast stretches of the Royal Library. Books are your friends. You read the old journals of your ancestors, the former Captains of the Guard, the accounts of the War, the stories of humans.

 

Humans are an enigma to you. You are not frightened of them, unlike many of the children you know. You never have been. You hate them, and yet you are fascinated by them, and that, you find with time, is enough.

 

The day you turn fifteen, you formally remove yourself from school and enroll yourself in the Royal Guard Academy. There’s a lot of shaking of heads and muttering about your age, but you’ve come to know the rulebooks better than any of them over the last eight years, and _officially_  the rules say a monster can enroll at fifteen, even if it’s not the done thing.

 

“This is for the best,” you tell Asgore quietly as you pack your bags. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, I really do. I ended up off a lot better than many kids would in my situation, but I can’t…I can’t be Asriel for you.”

 

He ducks his head, and you smile sadly. Perhaps you hadn’t understood when you were little, but with time you had come to know the reasons behind Asgore’s empty home.

 

“Is this old monster still allowed to come and visit you now and again?”

 

“Of course,” you tell him. “I’d like that very much.”

 

All eyes are on you from the moment you step into the Academy. Your mother was a legend, the circumstances of her death only heightening that, and that legacy carries over to you. Nimbus Cumulus, last of your line, last of the Currentwalkers.

 

You take the whispers, and you own them, make them your own.

 

 _Eyes on me, eyes on me, eyes on me,_ you whisper to the world.

 

You will be what the rumors say and more, exceed the expectations. You have been preparing your whole life for this, knowledge and promise and a hatred of humanity that lingers in your very core giving you a leg up above everyone else.

 

You graduate the Academy a year later, top of your class. Asgore is in the front row at the ceremony, beaming up at you with pride and just a hint of sadness when you receive your Guardsman’s uniform.

 

You are immediately recruited to the elite guard, the very best and the brightest, directly under the Captain. You’re the youngest amongst your comrades by at least a decade, but they bear you no ill will, jokingly nudging your shoulders and gossiping about how you’ll be made Captain-prospective before you’re twenty at the rate you’re going.

 

“Cadet Cumulus,” Asgore says to you, smile tugging at his lips, when he passes you in the corridors.

 

“King Asgore,” you say back, grinning.

 

After the dorms of the Academy, you move into a small room on the guards’ floor of the castle. You still visit Asgore for tea on Sundays, and then you are Nimbus and Uncle Asgore again.

 

The cot lies forgotten, forgiven, in the corner.

 

You’re seventeen when you overhear a conversation between the Captain and his right hand sergeant when you go looking for him in a training room.

 

“Cumulus sure is something, ain’t she? Still a teenager and keeping up with the best of us. I reckon Asgore’ll make her Captain once you retire.”

 

“Perhaps,” the Captain hums. “If he asked me, though, I’d probably advise against it.”

 

“Why? Don’t you like Cumulus?”

 

“I like her plenty fine. That’s not the problem. I just worry about what she’d be like in a position of power. Her mother was a wonderful woman, but in the end she just couldn’t handle the reality of what we’re meant to do.”

 

“Oh yeah…the last human soul. You were there, weren’t you?”

 

“Mhmm. Poor old Strato, something changed in her after that day. It was like the light went out of her eyes. I think she felt sorry for the human, maybe.”

 

The sergeant laughs. “Sorry? For a _human_? The fire that thing caused killed two good soldiers, I remember my father telling me about it.”

 

“Yes, it did. But…” He sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe she saw something that day the rest of us didn’t. All I remember was fire, a bunch of smoke, and Asgore finally pinning the thing down. The rest of us kinda had our hands full trying to rescue the trapped men and dealing with Doctor Crazy.”

 

“Oh yeah.” You hear another laugh. “That guy. Wasn’t he hiding the human? Thought it was his pet or something, I guess.”

 

The Captain snorts. “Who knows with Seraph, honestly. I don’t think anyone understands a word he says.”

 

The sergeant chuckles, and you manage to find your feet after that, running blindly through the castle’s corridors, as far away from what you just heard as you can get.

 

You try for months to forget what you heard, but it haunts you, in the silence of the night and the echoes of the castle’s empty halls, trailing after you like a specter.

 

Your mother, Captain Strato Neptune Cumulus, one of the greatest warriors of the Underground…felt sorry for a human?

 

 _No._ Your mother witnessed something horrible, a fire that the human caused that killed her men. That was what destroyed her. Asgore had said so.

 

They’re wrong. They must be.

 

And yet, it chases you, until one sleepless night it’s too much.

 

You have to know. You have to be _sure_.

 

It’s a quick voyage through the vents to the room you seek, a trip oddly nostalgic of your first visit to the castle. Much has changed since then, and while the vents are much more of a tight fit than they were when you were a child, you now know this castle’s layout better than anyone.

 

You go to the high-security files room for the Royal Guard. Only Asgore and the Captain have keys to here, the objects contained within too important to fall into the wrong hands. Here, surely, you will find the answers you seek.

 

There’s a file on your mother, as is there one on every former Captain, but it doesn’t tell you anything you don’t already know, though the mark of _‘Deceased. Cause of Death: Suicide’_ in bold red at the bottom of her file leaves a heavy weight in your chest. You check the other obvious places next—files on previous missions, anything with the name "Cumulus" on it, and, when you grow desperate, literally anything that has "Seraph" on it.

 

It’s near morning when you stumble across it, completely on accident. You’re deep into the dustiest corners of the large, high-ceilinged room crisscrossed with metal shelves from floor to ceiling, reaching for another box of files, when you accidentally knock a smaller, old-looking box with your elbow, and it clatters to the ground, a tape falling out the top as the lid is knocked off.

 

You pick it up, intending to place it back in its box and on its shelf, when the title catches your eye.

 

_“Security Tapes—Royal Labs, Dr. Seraph’s Floor.”_

 

At the bottom is a faded date, but one you recognize instantly. The day the third human soul was claimed.

 

Without thinking, you tuck the tape inside your jacket and place the box back on the shelf. It’s too near daylight to stay here any longer. If the tape doesn’t give you anything, you can always come back tomorrow.

 

There’s hesitation when you make it back to your room, sitting in front of your old television with the tape clutched in your hands.

 

Whatever your mother saw that day drove her to the edge of the abyss. Do you really want to know what that was?

 

There’s a part of you that balks at the concept, it feels too much like stirring up something better left to lie, but a greater part pushes you on.

 

You want to understand.

 

And so you play the tape.

 

And you watch a fire break out in a lab as a guard stumbles into a table of chemicals and sends them spilling onto the floor. You watch Asgore drag a tall, gangly monster in a lab coat away from the flames as he screams, handing him off to a group of guards and advancing forward with your mother a step behind him. You watch a small child with a frizzy mop of curls just like your own stumble through the flames, calling out for help, and you watch Asgore strike her down when she finally makes it to the edge of the fire.

 

The film’s too grainy, but you can easily imagine your mother’s wide, horrified eyes as she stands amongst the carnage.

 

Afterwards, once the tape’s run to its end, you remain there, your room illuminated only by the grey static of the television screen, while you lie curled up in a ball on the floor, too shell-shocked too move.

 

How can this be the great war of your lifetime your mother, Asgore, your teachers at the Academy told you about?

 

Surely not.

 

After what feels like an eternity, you force yourself up, and you go to the only place you can for answers.

 

You go to Asgore.

 

And you find him amongst the flowers.

 

He smiles at you when you enter the throne room, light and pleasant, and then just as quickly his smile falls, brows creasing in concern, when he notices your trembling hands, the bags under your eyes.

 

“Nimbus?” he asks you. “What’s wrong?”

 

Suddenly, you’re too angry for words.

 

“What’s wrong?!” you spit, pulling the tape from your jacket and throwing it to the ground before him. “ _That’s_ what’s wrong!”

 

Asgore’s eyes widen. “Where did you find that?”

 

You laugh wetly, dragging the back of a hand across your face when you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “The files room, where else?” You sniffle, staring down at the tape. “…My mother didn’t kill herself because of something horrible she saw the human do, did she?”

 

“Nimbus…”

 

“Don’t you _‘Nimbus’_ me!” you scream. “She didn’t, did she? It wasn’t anything the human did at all!”

 

“…No,” Asgore whispers, bowing his head.

 

“It was _you,_ ” you say, voice cracking. “She knew what you’d done, what she’d stood by and let you do, and she couldn’t live with herself knowing she let it happen.”

 

“Your mother…” Asgore hesitates. “Your mother couldn’t handle the duty of—“

 

“Duty?!” You laugh. “You killed a _child_ , a little girl! _That_ was the memory she was running from!”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“She had curly hair!” you say, almost unconsciously bringing a hand up to fist in your own mess of curls. “She had a purple hoodie like I did when I was little! She looked at that human, and she saw me, and that’s why she couldn’t live with what happened to her…that’s why…” You slump, wrapping your arms around yourself. “That’s why she wouldn’t look at me, either, afterwards.”

 

Asgore takes a hesitant step forward, and you take one back, shaking your head as your arms tighten around yourself. “My whole life, you’ve fed me a lie. I’ve spent _years_ hating humanity for what it took from me, I built my future around a revenge I didn’t need.” You sob, dropping your face into your hands. “Fuck, you took _everything_ from me, didn’t you? My mother, every chance I had at another life. Even when I ran away, even when you knew how miserable I was, you just couldn’t let me go. I spent _eight years_ on a cot in a _corner_ living a lie, because you were too selfish to set me free.” You laugh, shaking your head. “You never wanted me, did you?”

 

“That’s not true. I love you, Nimbus,” Asgore says quietly. “Like my own child.”

 

“No, you don’t,” you say, breathing out lowly and closing your eyes, letting your hands fall from your face. “You never could even bear to give me a room of my own in your house of ghosts. I was just a poor replacement for what you lost, and when I couldn’t be Asriel, you still wouldn’t let me be _me_.” You pause, opening your eyes and looking sadly at Asgore. “You’re the worst kind of self-centered, Asgore. Not selfless enough to tell me the truth and set me free, selfish enough to keep me so that you wouldn’t have to be alone again. You condemned me to a childhood of hatred for nothing but your own weakness.”

 

“Nimbus—“

 

“Save it,” you snap. “I’m—I’m done. With you…with all of this. I want no part in this farce of a battle for freedom. I’m getting out before what happened to my mother happens to me.”

 

“ _Nimbus,_ “ Asgore says again, and you scowl, turning to go. “Nimbus—hey! Don’t turn your back on me when I’m talking to you, young lady!”

 

“I can do whatever I want!” you yell over your shoulder. “You don’t control me anymore!”

 

“ _Cadet Cumulus, you come back here right now, that’s an order!”_

“Oh, yeah?” You wheel around, snarling. “Did I not mention?! I _quit!_ ” You twist, making to leave again, and barely make it two steps before there’s heavy footsteps and a hand on your arm.

 

“ _Let go of me!_ ” you screech, twisting back and futilely trying to rip your arm out of Asgore’s grip.

 

“Stop it right now, Nimbus! Don’t make the same mistake your mother did!” Asgore shouts, and you freeze, staring up at Asgore.

 

“The same mistake my mother did…?” You echo hollowly, and Asgore nods.

 

Inside, the rage that has flowed through your soul since your mother’s death boils up, redirected at a new target.

 

 _This_ is the horror of your nightmares, _this_ is what stole your life from you.

 

“My mother’s only _mistake_ was taking her own life instead of yours!” you scream, calling your magic in a blast of white-blue up your arm that forces Asgore to let go with a hiss. You wheel around, hardening your wing with your magic and swinging it at Asgore, knocking him back. “You _lowlife_ ,” you dive forward, using your wings to fly up and slam your foot against Asgore’s face, something crunching underneath he sole of your shoe at the contact and sending him stumbling to the ground with a yowl of pain, “ _disgusting,_ ” Asgore goes to sit up, and you fly down, slamming into his chest and pinning his arms with your wings, “ _lying_ , child-killing _monster!”_ On instinct, you draw your knife, an inheritance from your mother, from its sheath on the back of your waistband, holding it aloft and lighting it with your magic, poised to strike.

 

Asgore freezes, staring at it, and then closes his eyes, body going lax, as if accepting the inevitable. “…I am sorry, Nimbus. I never meant to hurt you.”

 

You hesitate at the words, lowering the knife slightly and staring at him, you open your mouth to say…something, maybe ask him _why_ , and then there are rough hands on you, grabbing you and pulling you back and twisting the knife out of your hands.

 

“No!” you shout, as they drag you back. “Let go of me, you fucking—you don’t _understand_! He’s killing children and we’re all just letting it happen!”

 

The bite of magic inhibitors being clamped around your hands is like a slap to the face, a shock running through your body as access to your magic is suddenly cut off, and you go limp as they force you out of the room, using the last of your fight to hold you head up long enough to watch Asgore be helped to his feet by two guards, his eyes achingly sad as they meet your own.

 

Your former comrades throw you in a cell and leave you there, chained to the wall by your magic inhibitors for what feels like an eternity.

 

You sit against the wall, staring at the ceiling vacantly, and wonder whether they’ll lock you up for the rest of your life or just kill you. You have no clue, really. No one’s ever attacked Asgore like this before.

 

Good fucking job, Nimbus, you tell yourself over and over again into the silence of the four concrete walls. Good _fucking_ job. You threw your life away and you didn’t even do anything to stop Asgore from doing the same thing all over again.

 

Eventually, you fall asleep, and are woken by the sound of thin fingers knocking on the metal bars. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” comes an overly cheerful voice when you blearily open your eyes. “I was afraid I might have to get an alarm clock or…something.”

 

Turning your head, you stare up at a tall, white monster in a familiar-looking dramatic black coat. “…What do you want?”

 

“Well,” the monster hums, clasping his arms behind his back and rocking back on his heels. “I suppose I’m wanting to know why an elite Royal Guard just tried to stick a knife through Asgore’s dense skull.” He blinks. “Not that it’s a bad idea, mind you, I’m just not sure _why_.”

 

You tilt your head, ignoring his question and squinting at him. “…You’re Doctor Seraph, aren’t you? The Royal Scientist? I recognize you from the tape.” You pause, considering. “…I’m sorry about your human. It seems like you really cared for her.”

 

“Gaster,” he corrects automatically. “W.D. Gaster, at your service.” When you frown in confusion, he smiles gently. “It’s my middle name. Wingdings _Gaster_ Seraph. And…thank you. I never thought I’d hear words of condolence, from a Royal Guard no less.”

 

“Not a Royal Guard," you mumble tiredly, leaning your head back against the brick wall. “I quit, see? Right to Asgore’s face. Course, even if I didn’t, I doubt they’d have let me stay now.”

 

“Probably not, no,” Gaster says, looking unperturbed. “Still, I find my question rather remains. Why did you attack Asgore?”

 

“I wasn’t exactly thinking it through like that much, was I?” you say, laughing bitterly. “Hell if I know…because he lied to me my whole life, I guess. Because…” You swallow, thinking of the grainy secrets of the security tape. “Because I finally saw in him the kind of monster that humans feared us as.” You blink dully, shaking your head and feeling your ear scrape against the rough wall. “I dun’ want to be a monster like that. Not now, not ever.”

 

Gaster’s face splits into a wide grin, and somehow, you feel for once in your life you’ve gotten something, even if it’s just a simple question, right. “I see. I must admit…you make me quite curious, Ms. Cumulus. I’d very much like to talk to you more about all this.”

 

“Sure, but I dunno how long I’ll be here,” you say, eyeing the walls of the cell. “I imagine they’ll either kill me or lock me in some hole soon.”

 

“Nonsense.” Gaster waves a hand. “I’ve already spoken to Asgore and arranged things. He’s less than keen to have you sent to prison over this as it is, and I have some…” He coughs. “Pull with him. Give it an hour while things are finalized and you’ll be released. No charges filed. It’s a case of…teenage hysteria. You’ll be dishonorably discharged from the Royal Guard but…somehow I get the impression that won’t bother you much.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“Jokes! I love jokes! But I’m afraid I’m not this time.” Gaster tips his head at you. “The world’s not quite finished with you yet, my dear girl.”

 

You blink, shaking your head, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Well good. I wasn’t quite finished with it either.”

 

“Excellent.” Gaster goes to leave, and then pauses, turning back around to look at you curiously. “Oh, one last thing. What shall I call you?”

 

You arch an eyebrow. “Don’t you already know my name?”

 

Gaster hums. “I didn’t ask for your _name,_ I asked what I should call you.”

 

You pause, studying the peculiar monster in front of you. It’s a second chance, you realize, a fresh start, away from secrets and lies and cots in living room corners, away from everything it meant to be Nimbus.

 

“Well?”

 

“…Wind,” you say. “Call me Wind.”

 

 

\\\\\\\\\

 

 

When Sans opens his eyes, the lights of the room flood his sight, and he blinks rapidly, bringing up his hands to rub away the spots in his vision. Opening his eyes again, he sees Wind in front of him, pulling her hands back into her lap and bowing her head, blue curls spilling in front of her face.

 

“After I was released, Gaster invited me to get a cup of coffee,” Wind says softly. “And then twenty minutes later he invited me to come and work with him. I had no where else to go, so he offered me this place to live, and then kept offering me more to make it mine.” She smiles. “It was…the first place I’d been in over a decade that felt like my own, like I belonged. Officially, Gaster employed me as a secretary, but I did a bit of everything—lab work, paperwork, Gaster-wrangling…pretty much what I still do now, honestly. I never thought I had a head for science, but turns out Gaster-science clicks just fine.” Sans giggles, and she grins. “When I was twenty-four, Gaster found Rose. She was a brilliant scientist years ahead of her peers, but was swimming in so much debt her college threatened to kick her out. Gaster found out about her because she wrote a controversial paper about the ethics of human soul power, and immediately after he offered to pay off her debt if she agreed to come work for him.”

 

“…Does she know?” Sans asks carefully. “About…”

 

“About me?” Wind smiles sadly. “Bits and pieces. She knows about my arrest, about why I aligned myself with Gaster, and she knows about Gaster’s human. She isn’t exactly aligned with the protection of humans, but she does believe that a war is suicide, and that what Asgore’s been doing is wrong.”

 

Sans hums. “What about Gamma and Ficus?”

 

“They came in a few years later…Gaster heard about a pair of teenagers that had been caught making robots out of scraps at the junkyard, and he decided they’d make perfect additions to the team. The two of them grew up in the foster system and they’re…jaded, about Asgore and his whole system. Apparently the public education system didn’t do right by either of them, and they dropped out and ran away from their foster homes. When Gaster invited them here to interview, they showed up, Gamma accused Gaster of being a human-harboring martyr, and then asked when they could start.” Sans snorts, and Wind giggles in response.

 

“Maybe it was growing up apart from regular society, maybe it’s just that they’re _them_ , but Gamma and Ficus have no interest in a war on humanity, large or individual, and they certainly hold no love for Asgore, especially after what he did to you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Of course.” Winds smiles. “They love you, you’re a part of the family.” She sighs. “We all have different reasons for being here, Sans, some…more obvious than others, but Gaster has changed all of us for the better.” She looks up, tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes are warm. “He helped us to see the truth.”

 

Sans hesitates, reaching out and retaking Wind’s hand with both of his own, clinging to it. “I don’t know how much Gaster told you about me, and why I came here but…I want to protect the humans that fall here, if you’ll help me. The last human, she—I—“

 

“It’s okay, Sans,” Wind whispers softly, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. “I know.” Sans sobs, lurching forward and hugging her, and closes his eyes when he feels Wind hug him back in turn. “I know.”

 

After a moment, Sans draws back, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, and Wind chuckles. “Hey, go easy on Gaster later, alright?” she says. “I’m sure the ‘legal guardian’ thing came as a shock to you, but he honestly was probably just waiting for the right time to tell you and forgot. He’ll bluster on about how it’s all to keep you from getting into trouble with the law, but he really wants this. He loves you and Papyrus both so much, it’s more than about work or protection. You’re his family, _our_ family.”

 

“I know,” Sans mumbles, ducking his head. “Thank you, Wind.”

 

“Of course,” she says. “Now, we should probably get back up there, yeah? Inspection must be over by now, surely.” She stands, and Sans startles, jumping to his feet.

 

“W-wait!”

 

“Yes, Sans?” Wind asks, raising an eyebrow with amusement in her eyes as she peers down at him.

 

“Teach me to fight!” he shouts, and then winces, stooping his shoulders. “I-I mean. Please. Teach me how to fight. I want…I want _control_ , I want to be able to fight when the time comes. To protect someone who needs protecting.” Wind hesitates, and he plows on. “You’re the best, the _strongest_ magic-user I’ve ever seen. If anyone can teach me, it’s you.”

 

“…Alright.” Wind says, smiling gently. “I’ll teach you how to fight.”

 

“Wait, really?” Leaping forward, he hugs Wind around the waist, clinging tightly. “Thank you, thank you!”

 

Wind chuckles. “It’s me that should be thanking you, Sans. It was right, you were the person to show everything. I feel…lighter.”

 

“I’m glad,” Sans says, and Wind grins, dropping a hand to Sans’s shoulder and squeezing it once before turning and walking towards the elevator, wings rustling cheerfully behind her.

 

“…Wait.” Sans blinks, Wind’s words hitting him. “ _What_ was right about me?”

 

Wind laughs, stepping into the elevator and hitting the button. “The little ghost in my dreams! First one to the top wins, Sans!”

 

The elevator doors slide shut, and Sans is left alone in the room.

 

Almost unconsciously, he brings a hand to his neck, touching it carefully. “A ghost?”

 

After a moment, he shakes his head, and calls his magic for a jump.

 

He can’t let Wind win that easily, after all.

  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone that's confused, Wind previously lived in the labs with Gaster, and later moved into Rose's apartment after they started dating.
> 
> Please note I wrote the last 8k of this on an 11 hour flight from New Zealand without sleep so if it's bad that's why.
> 
> Ironically, for such a long chapter, this never was supposed to originally happen. It only came about as the lab staff developed as characters, and I realized that, for all the time I expel on why Gaster and Sans are so invested in breaking the barrier and saving humans, I never explained the motivations of the rest of the staff. Hence this chapter. Wind's such a fun character to write and is so multi-faceted, I couldn't help but give her a starring role.
> 
> That's all, see y'all next update. Hopefully sooner than later lol.


	18. Conjecture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there is Sans. Sans, who trains under Wind and learns under Gaster, who has a soul that lives not just for the future of monsterkind but for humankind as well. He is the product of Asgore’s greatest mistakes, his greatest betrayals to people that once loved him, and he has every intention of being the thing that takes Asgore down, one day.
> 
>  
> 
> In essence, Sans is the epitome of everything Undyne is not, and yet, he thinks, they’re not completely different in their positions. They just placed their faith in different people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy. Long time, no update!
> 
> (I'm back.)
> 
> Apologies for the interim between updates, it's been a weird few months for me, and I really needed a break from this fic to clear my head by working on other things and to deal with some personal issues. Given that, and the fact that this chapter (and the one following it) are possibly two of the most important chapters in Act 2, and I really wanted to do it right, finishing the update took a while.
> 
>  
> 
> Before we begin, some extra content and fanart to present!
> 
> First up on fanart: Adorable character cards Celestialfeathers surprised me with at Emerald City Comicon this year! You can [check them out here!](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/158502608288/pastel-clark-sdkdhsjagjkh-so-i-forgot-to-post) 
> 
> Next, two gorgeous sketch sets of Wind, Rose, Sans, and Integrity by katthesmall, which you can see [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/155608975068/pastel-clark-hi-so-ive-recently-read-your) and [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/155608938753/pastel-clark-hi-its-me-again-with-the-second)!
> 
> We also have, by lieu of me googling Not As Simple on a dare, some pieces of fanart featuring Integrity I discovered by saphira123 (If the artist is reading this, I don't have accounts on any of your preferred media to thank you directly, but just know I found them and I love them!!). You can check out their gorgeous art of Integrity [here](https://www.paigeeworld.com/post/57dc5f05fae5e6380e1a0343/undertale--fanart-drawing-by-saphira123), [here](http://aminoapps.com/page/undertale/9182941/integrity-pixel-art-on-ms-paint-nasaahe), and [here](http://aminoapps.com/page/undertale/8654417/school-doodle-part-3-3)!!
> 
>  
> 
> In terms of bonus content for you guys, more exciting stuff!
> 
> First, to accompany the last chapter, Wind now has her own playlist [here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/155227592288/pastel-clark-i-was-gonna-put-this-up-for-the-not)!
> 
> Second, and possibly most excitingly, Not As Simple now has its own song!! My little sister commissioned one of my favorite independent musicians for me as a Christmas present, so I am overjoyed to present to you guys Lost Time, the official song for Not As Simple, which [you can find here](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/155886264973/pastel-clark-hi-so-inkedstarsandcoldstairs)!! (The musician in question is _amazing_ and I would absolutely suggest checking out the rest of her stuff!)
> 
>  
> 
> That's it! Now, I'm happy to present to y'all chapter 18!
> 
>  

“I’m…pretty sure that’s wrong.”

 

Gaster frowns, turning and squinting at the whiteboard. “…No?”

 

“Nah, he’s right,” Wind says from the table next to Sans where she’s perched, legs crossed and thick book open in her lap. “Top row, G. You didn’t carry the four.”

 

Gaster hums, tilting his head and staring up at the section in question. “…Bollocks. You’re correct. I can’t believe I missed that.”

 

Wind snorts loudly, turning a page in her book, and Sans rolls his eyes, going back to entering the data on his notepad into the computer in front of him.

 

Sans is fifteen, and some days it feels like they’re no closer to breaking into the rules of the barrier than they were when he first came to the labs.

 

…Ok, no, that’s wrong. It’s not a case of what he _feels_ , though that certainly plays an inevitable factor.

 

No, it’s more like they logistically, honestly have little more of an idea of what the fuck they’re looking at than they did three years ago. Never mind the fact that Gaster had already been working on this puzzle for at least another two decades, and then some, before Sans was even a factor.

 

It’s exhausting, and frustrating, and Sans knew from the beginning that the mystery of the space-time bubble that is the Underground wouldn’t be solved in a day, but sometimes it feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind.

 

Then again, he notes idly, as his eyes flicker to the two other people in the room, it’s not like this is a job built for the sane and healthy. To learn the truth, to even get close to it, you have to be willing to become damaged goods—and that’s just what they are, him and Wind and Gaster, the byproducts of witnessing the unfathomable and walking out the other side.

 

Smugly, Wind points out another error in Gaster’s math, laughing loudly at his outraged spluttering, and Sans can’t help but stare quietly, drinking in the bright sound of Wind’s laughter, her rustling wings as her shoulders shake with mirth. Across from her Gaster is loudly animated, coat twirling as he turns and chucks a marker at her, shouting indignantly.

 

They are so alive. Sometimes Sans has trouble understanding how he got lucky enough to be graced with this.

 

Wind has become something of a staple in many of his and Gaster’s research sessions ever since their little heart-to-heart during the first annual inspection he was present for, slipping into the mix of languages Gaster meshes together on accident during his ramblings and partaking in the easy, insulting banter with a grace that alludes to her experience with it. It speaks to just how long she’s been around Gaster, Sans thinks, and of how much time she’s had to learn his patterns. Perhaps it had always been like that, before Sans had arrived. He hates to think he accidentally made Wind feel she could no longer be Gaster’s first support, that whatever had come of sharing her memories led Wind to feel she had a _permission,_ one that she never needed in the first place, to be around them, but at least…things are alright now.

 

Honestly, Sans had never realized the true depth of Wind’s intelligence until she had quietly intruded upon his and Gaster’s work sessions, offering corrections and assistance. She may not be a scientist, but there’s a clear kind of innate brilliance and quickness to Wind that makes sense for someone Gaster would take an interest in.

 

Regardless, her presence definitely helps, and there’s a kind of openness in what she’s seen, what she’s chosen to stand for, that makes it easy to share with Wind the research into the barrier, into human souls, that they cannot with the others. She has thrown her lot in with humanity as much as himself or Gaster, and there’s an innate kind of trust that comes with that.

 

The only research Gaster pointedly does away from all eyes but his own and Sans’s is of that into the timelines. Even Wind is kept well away from every piece of it, and while Sans was never shared Wind’s memories of her time with Gaster as his assistant, she does not, as far as he can tell, know of this one little secret. For all that she may know of the barrier, of the deaths of the humans and of the blind loyalty of the Guard, this piece of the puzzle is one Gaster has kept hidden.

 

It’s protection, Sans thinks. There’s a kind of closeness between the two of them, one that makes sense with the knowledge that Gaster has known Wind since she was a teenager, and for every moment Gaster seems parental-feeling towards Sans and Papyrus, there is something of a matching moment there for Wind too. Gaster may not ever admit to it, defensive bastard that he is, but it’s plenty obvious he desires to care for the people around him. And for Wind, who has already seen so much of this nightmare, this is the only shielding he can offer her.

 

Sans doesn’t know if it’s right, to keep the truth from Wind like that, or from any of them really, but he does understand it. He has done, and continues to do, the same for Papyrus, for Grillby. He cares about them too much to ever tell them, as hypocritical as that sounds.

 

No, the secret of the timelines is one Sans shared only with the human, and now, he supposes, with Gaster.

 

Sometimes it feels like a bit of a sick trade off—Sans lost a sister and gained…what? A parent? A father?

 

That word brings hesitation, whenever it crosses Sans’s mind, much like when Rose’s touches to his cheek feel too maternal. He’s…scared. To risk that label, with all the consequences and costs it could bring.

 

A guardian, then. A guardian in Gaster, and in Rose, in a way. Someone to trust, in Wind, people to call something like family, in Gamma and Ficus, and a friend, in Alphys.

 

He has all this, and it is invaluable, and yet what he wants most is something he cannot have back. How selfish.

 

Still, while he cannot change the past, at least so far as he knows, Sans is painfully aware of the variability of the future. If they want to protect the next human who will inevitably fall down here, they must beat the clock, and crack the barrier first. It’s the only option.

 

…If only it wasn’t so fucking _complicated_.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Alphys’s familiar stutter paired with an aggressively loud voice greet Sans when he enters the main lab, leaving Sans gritting his teeth against the assault on his hearing, only adding to the headache that’s already been lingering the last few hours from watching Gaster work through walls of data without any success. Sans is well aware not every day is going to produce some sort of breakthrough, even a minor one, and most days don’t, but today has been…particularly frustrating.

 

And now _this_ of all things.

 

A startled squeak followed by a nervous-sounding “Sans!” alerts him to the fact that Alphys has noticed his arrival, and, reluctantly, Sans stops in his tracks, turning to face her and her guest.

 

“Oh, it’s you,” says a second, rougher voice, its occupant hovering just behind Alphys, arms thrown over her shoulders.

 

Sans sighs. “Hello to you too, Undyne.”

 

She grins, sharp and wide. “Fuckface.”

 

“Fishbitch.”

 

“Please,” Alphys says despairingly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose in a sign of exasperation she no doubt picked up from Rose. Undyne whines in complaint, dropping her head against Alphys’s shoulder, causing Alphys to flush pink, and Sans shrugs lazily, earning himself a glare from Alphys.

 

“She started it,” Sans says easily, ignoring Undyne’s outraged squawk of protest. Alphys rolls her eyes, and he snorts. “I’m just getting something from Wind’s study, anyways. Just go back to…whatever you two were doing. Or…whatever you were doing that Undyne was creepily watching you do?”

 

Alphys twitches in annoyance, an embarrassed blush scrawling further up her cheeks, and Undyne pops her head back up to point angrily at him. “I’m not creepy!”

 

“Nah, just annoying,” he answers, walking past them and shutting the door to Wind’s office firmly behind him. Leaning against it, Sans lets out a small sigh of relief, dropping his head and staring at the floor without any real purpose or recognition. Running into Undyne is always a bit jarring, her presence loud and demanding no matter how somewhat used to it he may get. Which is _exactly_ why Alphys is supposed to give him some kind of warning before bringing her over, Sans thinks with a kind of half-hearted annoyance.

 

Honestly, it’s amazing things between them have even progressed enough that Sans is able to tolerate Undyne’s presence, and Undyne the same for him, even if she still seems to take a kind of vicious pleasure in insulting him—not that he, admittedly, doesn’t do the same. He blames Wind, really. After seeing her memories he couldn’t help but look at Undyne’s position through new eyes. He still isn’t really clear on the details, but Undyne does seem to spend basically every day hovering around Asgore, and while Sans is pretty sure she isn’t _living_ with him like Wind had been—particularly given Alphys had off-handedly complained about Undyne’s group home once or twice—Asgore does seem to be all she has.

 

And…Sans can’t fault her for that. Not when he knows what it feels like to be alone and desperate for anyone to place your faith in, and not after Wind. Undyne isn’t to blame for what Asgore and their world taught her. Asgore makes victims, both intentional and unintentional, out of everyone he touches, that’s just the way it is. The Underground is poisoned with his hate, and as it stands most monsters are just too blinded by faith or too stupid—whichever or both, Sans doesn’t know—to question what has been done.

 

To turn, monsterkind will have to see the truth, and that’s what Sans and Gaster and everyone else in the labs are here for, after all.

 

Besides, it also doesn’t hurt that Undyne has calmed down some over the last couple years. Not much, but she’s at least stopped trying to fight Sans at every given opportunity, has learned not to shit-talk humans in his presence. And in turn, Sans has learned to bite his tongue when she slips up and praises the Guard and the future death of humanity.

 

It’s all…a work in progress, at the end of the day. But they’ve reached this, at least. A place where they can easily insult each other and shove each other around cheerfully and, most importantly, stand in the same room without trying to kill each other.

 

It’s almost ironic really, Sans thinks. The two of them have achieved this kind of mutual truce, and yet they stand in such opposing positions. Undyne hadn’t joined the regular Royal Guard when she turned fifteen, or even when she turned sixteen or seventeen, like Sans had thought she would. Instead she stayed at Asgore’s side, training directly under him. There are whispers around the castle, Alphys tells him, that Asgore will step in and immediately promote her to Captain once the current head of the Guard retires.

 

And then there is Sans. Sans, who trains under Wind and learns under Gaster, who has a soul that lives not just for the future of monsterkind but for humankind as well. He is the product of Asgore’s greatest mistakes, his greatest betrayals to people that once loved him, and he has every intention of being the thing that takes Asgore down, one day.

 

In essence, Sans is the epitome of everything Undyne is not, and yet, he thinks, they’re not _completely_ different in their positions. They just placed their faith in different people.

 

…Of course, Sans likes to think his own choices in what company he keeps are markedly much improved over Undyne’s. She is just a pawn in Asgore’s Underground, and Sans…he is no one’s to use. Not even Gaster’s.

 

Sighing, Sans straightens up, getting off his resting place against the door and taking the few steps he needs to drop heavily into Wind’s desk chair, sparing a small grin when it spins a couple loops as his weight hits it. Never let it be said Wind doesn’t make _excellent_ interior design choices. Her swivel chair is one of the best things in the labs upwards of the ridiculous shit that can be found on Gaster’s floor.

 

Speaking of…

 

Bending down, he trails his finger-bones down the drawers on the left side of the desk, pulling open the third one. There's an old storage drive Wind has somewhere here with some old work she’d done on studying shield magic like her own and comparing it to the barrier that she thought might help. Spotting the item in question, Sans grins and grabs it, sitting up and allowing himself a victory spin on the chair. Glancing at the door leading back to where the others wait for him, Sans takes a deep breath and stands up.

 

He cannot become bogged down in introspection and frustration. He needs to do this, there is no one else but himself and those waiting for him in front of Gaster’s whiteboard who can.

 

He _must_ do this.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sometimes, Sans can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

 

Admittedly, he’s always been a bit like that, and his time in the loops with the human has only made him more paranoid, fearing an enemy at every turn, but this is…different.

 

It feels more like an observer than an impending threat, something unobtrusive and invisible, but undeniably _there_. It’s an odd sensation, to feel as if there are eyes on him but find nothing, and too often he chalks it up to his worries getting the better of him.

 

Occasionally, at night, he dreams of a presence, one that sits across from him in the hollows of his consciousness, hidden by shadow. It’s hard to put a name to it, really. It reminds him instinctively of the human, the same kind of curling, inexplicable power in its form. But…more than anything, when he reaches out and pokes at its consciousness intruding upon places it should not be able to, it feels most like himself—not a perfect match, but close. Like looking in a distorted mirror. In a way, that makes sense. Sans, in his glitching, sparking magic, can jump through the spaces between reality without hesitation, and this…thing, in its own way, is doing something much similar.

 

It doesn’t belong to the physical Underground Sans lives in, and yet it walks in and out of it, hovering on the very edge, anyways.

 

Its visits are infrequent, and sporadic. Sometimes, it feels as if something is following him for days on end, and on other occasions he’ll go months with only the barest flicker of its presence once or twice in that whole time for only seconds.

 

When it happens, he is reminded of the creature that once wandered into his nightmare, years ago, abolishing the shadow-form of his sister with ease, and of the ghost Wind had joked about after she’d shown him her memories.

 

Most of the time, Sans thinks he’s being obsessive over something that is not there, so set on finding another enemy he must keep his guard up around that he’s gone and _invented_ one. Or…perhaps so desperate for another ally he’s done the same thing. It’s hard to tell which.

 

Occasionally, though, he feels as if there is another player in the chess game he and Gaster only fleetingly understand the rules to. Something else moving pieces as himself and the others hurriedly do their best to find a way to checkmate Asgore.

 

He…doesn’t know what to do with that potential concept, beyond hope that whatever it is, if it actually exists, is on their side.

 

 _God_ , he hopes it’s on their side.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans hits the ground with a yelp of pain, shoulder colliding painfully against the stone floor before he rolls over it and up, tensed in a crouch and magic crackling readily at his fingertips as he braces them on the ground and glares up. Across him, Wind straightens up, sighing and stretching an arm over her head languidly. “You’re _way_ too slow. That wasn’t even a glancing blow, I hit you dead-on.”

 

Sans huffs, curling his spine up and resting his forearms on his thighs, still crouching. “If you just taught me shielding magic— “

 

“ _My_ shielding magic is a kind unique to my species, and one that takes years to master.” At Sans’s scowl, Wind’s expression softens. “I’m not saying it’s impossible, Sans. Your magic reserves are the kind most monsters couldn’t even dream of. I’m just saying it would likely be exceedingly difficult, not to mention strenuous as hell. Shielding takes up enormous energy, it’s not the kind of thing you do frequently in fights unless it’s your specialty or you have no other choice.” She tilts her head. “Look at it this way. Have you ever seen me maintain my shield between blows?” Sans reluctantly shakes his head, and Wind beams. “Right, because it’s the kind of thing I wouldn’t risk draining my energy with unless I had no other choice to keep it sustained indefinitely. Shielding magic is incredibly useful, but it’s not reliable as your only form of defense. Hence...” Wind sweeps down, lowering herself until she’s crouching at Sans’s level, leaning forward with her wings spread out behind her for balance, a picture perfect form of a lithe, graceful soldier. “We learn to dodge. Got it?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sans grumbles, and Wind grins.

 

“Good. Now, again.”

 

Wind flies forward, leaping up and at him with purpose, and Sans barely has a second to dive sideways and roll out of the way before Wind’s foot slams into the spot where his head was moments ago. Jumping to his feet, Sans ducks under Wind’s arm as it makes an arc over his skull, and manages two steps to the left before a wing curves in from the right and hits him solidly in the chest, sending him flying through the air. Sans barely has a moment to brace for inevitable impact against the wall and send a quiet thought of apology to Papyrus for dying on him so soon, before a pair of wiry arms catch him and the buffet of wings catching on air fills the sound around him. Carefully raising his head and opening his eyes, Sans stares at Wind’s concerned expression as she gently lowers them both back to earth, setting Sans down slowly once her feet hit the ground.

 

“That’s _six_ times I’ve gotten you today, Sans,” Wind says patiently, in an annoyingly _forgiving_ way that makes Sans grit his teeth in frustration. “If I was a Royal Guard, that’s six times you’d have been dead.”

 

“I know, I know,” Sans mutters.

 

“Do you?” Wind crosses her arms, frowning down at him. “In a real fight, your opponent isn’t going to give you a chance to catch your breath, and you may not have anyone to watch your back for you.”

 

“I know!” he snaps. “It’s not like I’ve never fought for my life before or anything!”

 

Wind winces, and Sans sighs, ducking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

 

“No, you’re right,” Wind says. “I should be the one apologizing. I was…pushing you too hard. If you don’t want to do this I— “

 

“No!” he yelps, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at Wind. “I _need_ this. I need to be ready. Don’t start babying me because of one rough day. I asked for your help and I’m going to keep asking until I’ve learned everything I can.” Taking a deep breath, he takes a step back, assuming a defensive position. “Again.”

 

Wind hesitates, and then lunges forward. Sans ducks under her leg as she aims a flying kick at him, diving behind her and jumping up onto the wing that sweeps out at him, using it as a platform to propel himself up and over Wind’s head. He hits the ground rolling, jumping up and breaking into a sprint as Wind takes off after him. He’ll lead her around the room, he thinks, tire her out—survival is the name of the game with this exercise, the idea being to evade Wind’s attacks for a full five minutes. He grins at the sounds of Wind behind him, confident for once that he’s got the upper hand, and then there’s the flapping of wings and a tall figure slams into the ground in front of him.

 

— _Guards everywhere, cornering them in the tight caves of Waterfall’s hidden crevices. He dodges right to avoid a barrage of flying arrows, the human right behind him, hand in his. He searches the perimeter desperately, looking for a way out, frantically moving until—there! On the left, a gap between the soldiers stands out, leading to the entrance of another cavern. He dives forward, dragging the human behind him, sights set on the route of escape. They’re going to make it, they’re so close, and then a guard slams into view from seemingly out of nowhere, wielding their spear as they thrust it forward and straight into Sans’s soul, shattering his conscious instantly. He hears the human scream, but everything is going black, and he can’t **move** — _

 

Sans comes back to himself stretched out on the floor of the training room, head pillowed in Wind’s lap and limbs spread out haphazardly. He flinches as cool fingers prod the edges of his skull clinically, checking for injuries, probably, and slowly Wind’s worried face swims into view above him.

 

“…Sans? You back with me, buddy?”

 

He winces, sitting up carefully, Wind’s hands going to his back to steady him. “Yeah, more or less.”

 

“Where did you go?” Wind asks, voice knowing and soft as she runs a gentle hand down his spine, patience and understanding in her whole being.

 

He shrugs helplessly. “Back.”

 

Wind purses her lips, choosing not to press him. “I think that’s enough for today.” Sans opens his mouth to protest, and she shakes her head. “You’ve been out of it all morning, and it’s never a good sign when you start having flashbacks. Trust me, I’d know.”

 

“I suppose not,” Sans mutters reluctantly, and Wind sighs.

 

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, kiddo. You’ll burn out if you press too hard. So you’re having a bad day, that’s _fine_. Take a break for once, yeah? Clear your head.”

 

Sans snorts. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I feel like every time I leave this room I’m staring at more dead-end equations.”

 

“Then get out of the labs for a bit.” At Sans’s incredulous look, Wind rolls her eyes. “I know you hate being in Asgore’s potential sights, but the Underground’s a lot bigger than his immediate reach. It’s not healthy to live your life down here fulltime. There’s reasons why Rose always bullies Gaster into doing sample collections for her outside the labs, a little change of scenery is good for him, and, for that matter, for _you_. Take the day off—go visit Grillby in Snowdin, go to a market in the Capital, go…fuck around Hotland, I don’t know! My point is, do _something_.” Wind pauses, sighing. “Sometimes the way to solve a problem is to come back to it with fresh eyes.”

 

“Yeah, alright, point taken,” Sans says, ducking his head. “I’ll—I’ll try.”

 

 

xxx

 

 

Somehow, Sans suspects when Wind advised him to take some time to himself, this isn’t quite what she meant.

 

Muttering under his breath, Sans curses as he trips over another outcropping of rock, stumbling none too gracefully over the thin stream running through the ground beneath his feet. It’s embarrassing really, just how clumsy he’s gotten. What he once navigated with deadly precision and artistry now leaves him falling over his own feet. This is the first time he’s set foot in the lower pools in…God, _months_.

 

He’s been neglecting it, and his place _in_ it, this expanse of caverns that was once his home. Was once _their_ home, his and Papyrus’s, his and the human’s.

 

It was only a few years ago, when he knew the watery songs of this place down to the marrow of his bones, and the core of his soul. Frequently now it feels like a lifetime ago, sometimes it feels like it all just happened.

 

Very occasionally, Sans still wakes up and expects to see a cavern ceiling and feel the weight of a hand on his sternum, to find the world has reset itself and turned back time once again.

 

…Honestly, Sans doesn’t know now whether he would be relieved or horrified if that happened. Maybe both.

 

He has not accepted her death; he will _never_ accept her death, not for how it happened or what was done to her, and in turn to him. And yet, he doesn’t know if he could ever go back to that time. This is so much bigger than one life, one soul to save, now. He’s seen and learned so much.

 

This is not just about Sans himself or the human he came to call friend and sister. This is about all of them. Humans, monsters, the souls lost to Asgore and the people of the labs he now calls something like family and the fates of the next to fall. There are individuals to protect, those he loves and those he has not yet met but sworn to guard with his life when he does, and there are whole nations to save, that stand to fall if he doesn’t find a way to stop this war.

 

 _Patience_ , he reminds himself. The barrier wasn’t built in a day, and neither will it be destroyed as such. Nor, he thinks, is it as simple as pulling a switch and shutting off the power to whatever keeps them trapped here. Destroy the barrier without learning how to control it and they will only unleash Asgore’s war between humans and monsters that much sooner. They _need_ that power to bend it to their will, to use the barrier as their bargaining chip against the crown. Right now the cards are stacked in Asgore’s favor, and they desperately need to produce an ace.

 

 _“Will you kill him?”_ Sans remembers overhearing Wind ask Gaster in a hushed discussion one night, when the overhead lights were dimmed and they believed he’d fallen asleep in the plushy chair in the corner with his book.

 

 _“Not unless I have to,”_ Gaster had said. _“His words have considerable sway among the people, sway that can be played to our advantage if we can control his message to the public, and regardless I’d rather not stoop to his level.”_

_“What will you do, then?”_

_“Get him to step down from power, obviously.”_ Gaster snorted. _“He’s too dangerous to try and control him while he holds power. You and I both know we could never successfully make a puppet king out of him. We’ll have to cut the strings or risk getting strangled in them.”_

_“…Then what?”_ Wind had offered eventually, her words quiet. “ _Who will replace him? Monsters have never had democracy, we have told our needs to the royal family and they provided. Our supposed good nature kept us in peace with one another. They will balk at such a human way of government, and in the wake of the destruction of the barrier it will not be the time to try it out. They will need a leader.”_

_“Yes. They will,”_ Gaster agreed.

 

_“So I ask again. Who’s going to lead them, Gaster? You?”_

_“Me? God no. Never. Never me.”_

 

Wind had frowned, crossing her arms. _“That’s not an answer and you know it.”_

Sans sighs, sticking his hands in his coat pockets and staring up at the cavern ceiling above him, contemplative. He’d couldn’t help but ask Gaster, after Wind had left and the other had come to pick him up and tuck him into his bed for the night.

 

_“Who will lead?”_

_“…So you were awake.”_ Gaster had stilled, hesitating and then picking Sans up anyways. He’d squirmed halfheartedly, wanting to argue he was not a small child and yet enjoying the soothing contact too much to protest it.

 

 _“Who will lead?”_  he asked again, once he was settled in Gaster’s arms, his small stature even for most young monsters easily dwarfed by Gaster’s considerable height.

 

 _“…Wind will lead.,_  Gaster had finally said. _“She is strong, and intelligent, and has the heart to hold a whole kingdom. Her status as the last of an elite military family, and of a revered species of monster, will give her the backing she needs to reasonably take control, so long as her old records disappear.”_

 

Sans blinked, and as if sensing the unasked question, Gaster bowed his head slightly. _“I will advise her, if I can, but my reputation as the nutcase who protected a human proceeds me. Wind’s hands are cleaner, less involved in this mess.”_ He sighed. “ _It is more than possible that Asgore will not relinquish his power easily, and if things go wrong someone must take the fall. I will go down as the one who destroyed Asgore’s throne if I must, and from the dust Wind will rise as their savior.”_ His gaze fell to Sans’s firm glare _. “If that happens, Sans, you must let it. Do not go trying to save me from my own choices.”_

 

 _“The entire Royal Guard and half of Asgore’s advisors know me as the kid who fought their troops for a human,”_ Sans said, tinges of something close to wry amusement crawling into his words. _“My hands are no cleaner than yours. If you fall, I’ll damn well plan on falling with you.”_

_“Sans—“_

_“If you want to protect me then don’t let anything happen to you,”_  he returned firmly, cutting Gaster off. _“Do not ask me to…do not ask me leave my family again. I won’t. I **can’t**.”_

_“…I know,”_ Gaster said. _“I know.”_

Wind isn’t aware of Gaster’s potential plans for her, Sans knows, and it leaves him with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth at the thought. She would refuse if she knew, he’s sure, which is likely also exactly the reason Gaster never chose to tell her, and in knowing this much about Wind himself too, Gaster has also bought Sans’s silence, prudence winning over his desire for transparency.

 

Ironic really, given all the times Sans has pressed Gaster for honesty between them.

 

Sometimes, Sans looks back on the memories Wind had shown him, of her first meeting with Gaster, and wonders if the other had planned this from the beginning, the very moment he met Wind and saw what she was, what she offered.

 

It would not surprise him if that were the case, honestly. Gaster acts continuously in the best interests of the future, but that can drive him to be manipulative, to keep his cards close to his chest, even if largely unconsciously. After all, the initial agreement between them that brought Sans to the labs was more a business arrangement than anything else, a peace treaty between temporary allies. The later developed familial affection was an unexpected consequence, or bonus, depending on how one looked at it.

 

Regardless, those are both matters of the past, and of the long-awaited future. He cannot change Gaster’s actions in the past even if he sought to, which he doesn’t, really, and the potential scenarios where Wind might find herself granted Asgore’s royal power, chosen or not, look to be years away. It’s a non-issue for now, at least until they find a way to break the barrier.

 

…Which leads him to why Wind had booted him out here to get some metaphorical fresh air in the first place.

 

The utter _frustration_ at their lack of progress, the frustrating _itch_ in his soul telling him he is missing important clues, puzzle pieces he needs to find the answer.

 

The presence, Sans thinks, the one that haunts him like a half-imagined daydream, or perhaps a lingering nightmare, would know, _does_ know.

 

He’s not even fully confident it actually…well, _exists_ beyond the scope of his paranoid delusions, but if it does, if it is real, then it holds the answers he seeks. He is inexplicably, completely certain of that.

 

It’s crashing into a sign that smacks him firmly in the face that pulls Sans from his musings.

 

“Ow, _fuck,_ ” he growls, tripping blindly away from the offending obstacle and rubbing at his sore skull. After a moment of cursing and waiting for the pain to dull down, he opens his eyes, spots the sign, and groans, slumping forward.

 

Of course...of _fucking_ course.

 

“Why,” he deadpans, staring at it.

 

It seems he really is just as consistent as Gaster in some behaviors.

 

And apparently, when he needs the hard answers, Sans’s subconscious only knows one place to get them.

 

 

xxx

 

 

The head Tem’s sharp-fanged smile borders on gloating when he comes to her, eyes trained on him and expecting, as if she knew he would come here.

 

…On second thought, he decides, scratch the 'if'. She is the head Tem, she knows about everything that gets within even a fifty-foot radius of her village the second it does so. She knew he was coming here before he himself even did.

 

“Ah, my favorite expendable life-form,” she drawls, voice sickly-sweet. “How lovely.”

 

“Save it,” he sighs, flopping down into the chair across from her and fighting off a shiver at the predatory curiosity in her gaze.

 

The Temmies, Sans has come to realize over the last couple years, seem to…like him—as much as Temmies _can_ like something aside from themselves, at least. At best, he figures, he’s something between an amusing distraction to them and an obedient pet they’ve grown fond of. At worst, a toy they’ve decided is worth not breaking during their play.

 

Honestly, none of the above descriptions stick out to him as particular definitions of valuing a person’s life, but from what he has gathered from Gaster, the first time the latter came back from meeting with the head Tem to sort out Sans’s potential debts to them, the Temmies showed a certain lenient interest in preserving his continued existence that they don’t really hold for most monsters outside their own kind. It appears those years of work for them had paid off, in their own way.

 

Still, even knowing he holds something like their favor, that doesn’t stop Sans from being fucking _terrified_ of them.

 

…And with good reason, he thinks, as he watches the disarmingly small form of the head Temmie as she sits across from him.

 

“What can I do for you?” she asks, tilting her head faux-innocently, and Sans snorts. As if the Temmies do anything without a cost.

 

“I need information.”

 

The grin on the Temmie’s face grows wider. “Information is expensive.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” He pauses. It’s useless to ask about the barrier, of course, that he knows. If it was as simple as bartering an answer out of the Temmies, then Gaster would have done it years ago. There’s some things even _they_ don’t know, he supposes.

 

No, it is something else he seeks explanation on, and yet something just as elusive.

 

“…This is something I’m not sure even your Temmies will know anything on,” he says, choosing his words carefully, and winces when the head Temmie twitches slightly at his words, clearly less than flattered at his implication that her knowledge of the Underground is less than complete. “Not that your sources are…lacking. I’m just not sure any record of this thing even _exists_.”

 

The Temmie raises an eyebrow. “And?”

 

Sans groans. “Look. If you have something to offer, I’ll do the work for it, but if I tell you about this thing and you _don’t_ have any information, can you take our longstanding…business relationship into consideration and just be honest with me before I go and do a job for you that’s not going to give me anything.”

 

The Temmie sniffs haughtily. “Tems do not lie, especially about information. That is not a part of our principles. In light of the benefits you have served to the Temmie agenda in the past, I will tell you if I can, in fact, offer you anything on the subject of information you seek.”

 

He sighs, slumping. “ _Thank_ you.”

 

“So.” She quirks an eyebrow, looking borderline intrigued by the concept of something so mysterious that Sans could think eludes even her. “What is it you seek that you find so confounding?”

 

“It’s…” Sans pauses, trying to think of a way to accurately describe the presence. “…A creature. I’m not sure if it’s monster or human in origin, or…something else. Hell, I’m not completely sure it’s _real_.” The Temmie’s eyes narrow, and he shrugs helplessly. “I’ve only met it once, it invaded a nightmare and intervened.”

 

“And you’re sure this wasn’t just your subconscious taking pity on you?”

 

He winces. He had considered that for a long time, but… “No. My nightmares…don’t ever stop like that, and it’s only happened the once. It wasn’t me, it was an outside consciousness with autonomy over my dreams. Or, at least, it had that power in that moment.” The Tem nods, and hesitantly, he continues. “I don’t know what it looks like, it was like it was cast in shadow and its face was just…” Sans waves his hands around his own pointedly. “Not there? Distorted. It had a magic signature, though that was kind of static-like too, as if it wasn’t flowing properly. Powerful, I could tell that much, at least…similar to my own, maybe? I’m not completely sure, I’d never felt anything like it.”

 

“…And did this creature have a name?”

 

“It called itself…a remnant.”

 

The Tem frowns, brows furrowing, and Sans watches almost hopelessly as she looks down at her desk and taps it with an idle paw, considering his words. There’s frustration scrawled across her features, and that’s enough to basically give Sans his answer. Temmies as a rule are in the business of knowing everything, and the only thing that truly frustrates them even more than a situation out of their control is something in the Underground they know nothing about, a true wild card.

 

“No,” she says at length. “I can’t say I have heard of it.” She jumps off her desk, causing the two Temmies standing at the entryway corners of the room to straighten up almost imperceptibly, but she simply pushes open a crudely-painted bright orange and blue door set against the back wall amongst the rabble of overly-cheerfully colored things in the room, and disappears inside, voice slightly muffled as it rings out again. “You said it had a powerful magic signature?”

 

“Ah…” He shifts, glancing at one of the guarding Tems, who looks as confused as he does—from what little he can gain of their expression, at least. “Yeah.”

 

There’s a shuffle, and then the sound of something being pulled off a shelf and of pages being thumbed through. “You live in the castle laboratories, yes? You interact with incredibly strong monsters on the daily. Would you classify it as more or less powerful than the stronger signatures you’re familiar with?”

 

“I…more, maybe?” Sans frowns, and shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, not more, just…different? Monsters’ signatures all hold some similarities, even slight ones, but this was completely its own equation.”

 

“Estimate, then. Just on your initial impressions of raw potential.”

 

He shudders, doing his best to recall the fading glimpses of the remnant’s magic that single time it had interfered in his mind. “At least around Asgore’s. Boss Monster capability levels of magic.”

 

“Hm…” The head Temmie hums, pushing back into the room with a large, well-worn book balanced on her head. “Interesting.” She jumps back into her seat with surprising grace, the book barely wobbling from its position before she lifts it off her head and sets it with a none-to-gentle thump on the desk, flipping through the pages with purpose. “Did it have a soul?”

 

“… _What?_ ”

 

She peers up at him, a distinct lack of amusement scrawled across her features. “I said: did it have a soul?”

 

“No, I heard what you said, I just…” He runs a hand nervously over the back of his skull, fingers catching on his jacket hood and drawing it over his head on instinct. “It must have, right? Nothing can survive without a soul.”

 

The Temmie blinks. “Do you _remember_ the presence of a soul?”

 

“I—“ He slumps. “No, I don’t, but I wasn’t exactly looking for one, anyways.” He feels a shiver up his spine at the implications of his own words. “What are you getting at?”

 

With a slight frown, the Temmie looks back down at the book, finally landing on a page and smoothing it out before turning the book around to face Sans. “It is not an exaggeration to say my knowledge of this Underground and its inhabitants is likely second to none. If such a powerful creature were loose in these caverns, no matter how elusive it may be, I would have heard about it.”

 

“…Alright.”

 

The Tem sighs, nodding to the book, and Sans’s gaze falls to it, eyes widening at familiar handwriting. “There is a…theory, one that was originally developed as a matter of study on the surface before the War, about the nature between consciousness and soul, and whether they can be separated. “

 

Sans leans forward, grabbing the edges of the book and pulling it forward. “This is…Gaster’s handwriting.”

 

“But of course.” The Temmie nods towards the book. “The theory was all conjecture originally, but it became a matter of interest for the first Royal Scientist, whom your Gaster studied under. It was thought that if the theory could be put into action, it might offer a way to a means of escape from the Underground.”

 

“The lost soul effect…” he mutters, reading the words at the top of the page and peering over the book, taking in Gaster’s messy handwriting in the odd-shaped symbols of his native language. “You said it was about separating the consciousness and the soul?”

 

“Yes. It is generally assumed the consciousness resides in the soul, particularly in regards to Monsters, as our physical forms have no definable neural systems as humans do.” The Temmie pauses. “This research, however, postulated, among other things, that it might be possible to disconnect the consciousness from the soul, and to exist as a separate entity, so long as the soul remained intact.”

 

Sans furrows his brows, glancing up at her. “Is it?”

 

“Do you really think that, were it proven possible, we would not have capitalized on it?” the Temmie says pointedly, and Sans winces in answer. “The theory is absolutely impossible to prove correct within any reasonable bounds of experimentation. Monsters souls _are_ the culminations of their beings. To attempt to separate a monster from their soul would result in an overwhelmingly likely chance of death, and, even back on the surface when human souls were accessible, the conjecture was still too risky to test on them. The only way to prove it true is if a naturally occurring case was found.”

 

“…And you think…?”

 

“What you described—a creature capable of thought but without a physical form, with a magic signature but no discernible presence of a soul tied to it, what does that sound like to you?”

 

“But…” He frowns, fingers running over the symbols at the bottom of the page. “It says here that magic is connected to the soul, not the consciousness, and that severing the two would cut off a monster’s access to magic. This thing _definitely_ had magic.”

 

The Tem tilts her head in acquiescence. “Magic _is_ channeled from the soul, but the assumption that separating consciousness and soul would separate consciousness and magic is conjecture. It is sound, logical conjecture, yes, but _only_ conjecture. As is this.” She purses her lips, shaking her head. “I am not positive on what it is you believe yourself to have found, but if what you say is true, then whatever it is, it is outside our constraints of how monsters and humans work. It takes incredibly powerful magic to influence the psyche, and to interfere with your sleeping conscious this creature would have to share some bond with your own soul, or at the very least your magic signature.”

 

Sans’s eyes flicker back down to the page, darting over scattered symbols for _soul, magic, mind, body_. “…It knew my name. It knew _me_.”

 

When he looks to the Temmie, she only stares back impassively, and he sighs, idly flipping the page in the book and scanning the contents, taking in a similar set of notes and charts. “…What’s this?”

 

The Temmie glances at the book, and blinks. “Ah. The even more outrageously speculative sister theory to the previous one we just discussed. It suggests potential ways to keep a monster’s consciousness alive during the loss of a soul.”

 

 _That_ catches Sans’s attention, and he skims the page, grimacing at the overly-complex diagram filled with a multitude of numbers and symbols revolving around a central circle with only the symbols for what roughly translated to _will-to-live variable_ set inside it. “How would you give a monster a will to survive after they’re already _dying_?”

 

“Human souls survive after death, by the means of something within their own makeup,” the head Tem offers. “This was the idea that, if said _something_ could be isolated and given to a dying monster, it might revive them. Or, in its more wild concepts, that an object given that isolated human element that allows the soul to persist might allow the object to develop a consciousness.”

 

Sans shakes his head, sitting back. “That’s more fantasy than logic. Maybe, _maybe_ , you could revive a dying monster, if there were some miracle drug sourced from human souls, but you can’t create a living being out of nothing. That’s just like…something out of one of Gaster’s bad animes. Hell, you could sprinkle _monster dust_ over that item and you still wouldn’t get anywhere, not without a soul, or a residual magic signature at the very least.”

 

The Tem hums in agreement, and he groans, bringing his hands up to rub wearily at his eyes. “I can’t believe Gaster never told me about any of this, half of our fucking research _revolves_ around the nature of souls.”

 

…Admittedly, that research is focused on the timeline properties of human souls, not on consciousness and soul, but…well. It’s not like the Temmies need to know that little tidbit of information.

 

“It is possible that he did not remember,” the head Tem says, leaning forward and shutting the book. “These were inane theories his predecessor studied for a short period of time then abandoned, nothing more. I doubt he even remembers trading a spare copy of the research notes in exchange for…a favor.”

 

Sans grunts in something like concession, not bothering to ask _why_ the Temmies would want the notes to such a seemingly pointless bunch of theories. To them, such things don’t have to be practical or applicable to be desirable. They covet knowledge, in all its forms.

 

“Yeah, I suppose. Not exactly the type of thing someone would try out for a laugh, even him.” Sighing wearily, he pulls his hands away and cracks an eye open. “So, how much do I owe you for even showing me that?”

 

“Nothing, so long as you inform me of anything further you discover on the subject you came asking me on.”

 

He blinks, sitting up and staring openly at the Temmie. “Wait, really?”

 

She scowls. “Do not take this as some foolish form of kind-heartedness. I dislike not knowing about anything in this Underground, _particularly_ things that may have more power than they seem. This creature you speak of…it has peaked my interest, to say the least.”

 

“…Huh,” Sans returns at length, mentally shrugging and deciding not to question the small mercies in life. The less time he has to waste doing odd jobs for the Tems, the better. “Alright, deal.” Almost idly, he stands, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well, I should get back, I was only supposed to be out for a quick walk.” The head Tem tilts her head, granting him permission to leave, and he turns, ignoring the ever-unsettling gazes of the guarding Temmies as he goes.

 

He makes it to two steps before the door when the Temmie’s voice calls out again. “Sans.” He startles slightly, because the Tems almost never use his name, and _goddamn_ is that creepy to hear, and looks over his shoulder, meeting the glimmering stare of the head Tem.

  

“Your Gaster has never tried to give an inanimate item consciousness or tried to revive a dying _monster_ , true, but that does not make him any less of a stubborn fool, or as forgetful as you or I might give him credit for.”

 

He swallows nervously. “…What do you mean?”

 

The Temmie grins, sharp and wide, and once again Sans is reminded of the cold, calculating being she really is. “The dog. Toby. It is not like the other dog monsters of the Underground, you know this—but that is because it is not a monster at all.” Her fangs glint. “It came here many, _many_ years ago, with the human Gaster called his own, and the dogs of the surface, mere _pets_ , do not have such long lifespans as their masters. That dog should, by all reason and logic, be dead, and yet it is not. Do you understand?”

 

It takes a moment, and then the bottom of Sans’s stomach plummets, a horrible, lurching feeling taking over as the implication of her words, of the words on that book still clutched between her paws, fall into place.

 

“…No idea what you’re talking about,” he forces out, turning and yanking the door open. “I…I have to go.”

 

He runs, seeking the quiet of Waterfall, away from this place of cursed ideas and suggestions and of obnoxious facades, away from theories on time-worn paper that bring fear and nervous realizations and paranoia crawling into his throat.

 

Above all, he pretends not to hear the laughter of the Tems as it chases his heels.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on [Tumblr](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/hpClarkster) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Or! Check out the [official Not As Simple content blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/), for all things Not As Simple!


	19. Song of Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t get it,” he says, defeat heavy and tasting like rotting grief in his mouth. “What were you trying to show me?” 
> 
> (In which Gaster needs to stop recording everything he says, the question of the first royal scientist is finally answered, Sans electrocutes himself on a dog, the void is prepared to slap dumb young skeletons upside the head, and four of five anomalies show their hand.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, probably: ok this fic is dead finally we can move on with our lives.
> 
> Me, rolling up with 19k of bullshit: hold my beer
> 
>  
> 
> aka: Greetings! I'm back!  
>  
> 
> I'll save my longer note about my absence for the bottom, so that y'all that want to can get straight to the new content, but first the usual housekeeping matters:
> 
> New Fanart! Enormous thanks to forever-destiel-lover on tumblr for their utterly gorgeous art of [Integrity](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/160724973043/w-another-i-tried-to-draw-a-realistic) and [Integrity & Sans in the Snowdin Woods](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/post/160724925683/thank-you-for-such-a-beautiful-piece-of-workqwq) (with some lab staff hiding in the background!). 
> 
> There _is_ a new playlist for this chapter, and I highly recommend checking it out, particularly as something to listen to while you read the latter half of this chapter. You can [find it on tumblr here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/post/171297486282/remnants-songs-for-the-flowerborn-and-the), or j[ump straight to the youtube link here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYyikp8pvXEBRT-CmiBf_1yrBEnzOzDiM).
> 
> The [Not As Simple tumblr blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/) has also undergone some renovations, including a new ["character menu"](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/characters) with info on every character & links to their tags and reference art that took me like 10 hours to format so y'all should definitely check it out. 
> 
> That's it! Welcome back to this glorious mess!!

 

That night, Sans waits until the labs have fallen quiet and still, only the fluttering breaths of sleeping souls left amongst the silence, before he makes his move.

 

He had not been able to look Gaster in the eye when he had returned from the Tems, spending hours wandering the empty caverns of Waterfall that only the experienced and light of foot may find, in order to avoid coming home for as long as possible. Eventually, when the light of the Underground began to slow and fade, he’d reluctantly dragged himself back to the labs, unwilling to leave Gaster and the others worrying over his disappearance despite everything.

 

He did not ask Gaster about it—about the crawling, creeping sensation of displaced horror and vague mistrust he’d felt since the head Temmie’s suggested… _implications_ , because, at the end of the day, he knows the truth of the nature of the matter, even if not of its contents. It does not matter whether the Temmies are correct, whether Gaster did such things or not, because, even if Sans confronted Gaster about it, laid out all the evidence and implications and begged for honesty, chances are Gaster would still look him in the face and lie if he believed it was best for Sans.

 

He would lie, as he has lied to Wind, and Rose, and Gamma and Ficus. As Sans himself has lied to Papyrus and Grillby.

 

He would lie, because he loves Sans.

 

And love is such a fickle, complicated thing, after all.

 

Only the once has Sans known true honesty—with the human, in their hidden world of resets and restarts, where consequence could not touch them. Love drove their honesty, in an existence where they had only ever lived lies.

 

But the human is dead, and Sans is not, and he has learned just how willing he is to lie, to be dishonest and cheat fate, if it will keep those he loves alive this time around.

 

On that level, he does not begrudge Gaster these choices. Honesty is a fragile, dangerous thing, and even what parts of it he has extended to Sans and Wind, to the entire staff, could destroy him if they ever turned it on him. The fact that he would keep secrets—whether out of shame or desire to protect them—is understandable to Sans in a way that makes him feel…guilty. Dirty, maybe. He is sure if the child he was those three years ago—who clung to the shards of a dead girl’s memory and screamed for honesty, pure and complete in the kind of trust he’d come to revere, the kind he wanted back more than anything—could see him, he would be disgusted at how much he has allowed the grey areas he swore he’d never give into to shape him, how far he has fallen already.

 

But this is not a war won on righteousness and vengeance so much as it is a last stand of devotion and desperation. He may not have understood that then, when he threw in his loyalties to Gaster on a desire for revenge and simple _understanding_ , but he does now, as he stands here at Gaster’s side still, driven by faith and love and something vaguely like hope.

 

And so, Sans does not ask Gaster when he seeks truth this time. He waits until the darkness can hide his doubts, and then goes looking for answers.

 

He rises from bed quietly, shuffling back his blankets carefully, before, in a fit of childish desire for security, he snatches the dark blue blanket that was once the human’s from the bed, and drapes it over himself like a giant, fluffy shawl that catches on the ground as he walks.

 

It’s a ridiculous sentiment, really. Just as much as the memory pendant he wears against his sternum and under his sweater every day without fail. The remnants of the dead cannot protect him, cannot shield him from his reality, but there is a comfort that comes from them, a warmth from this one blanket like no other, and he is not strong enough to deny himself that. Not now, not ever. He needs her, as much now as he did then, despite all his growth and all his change, and if this is all he has then so be it. It will be enough.

 

Each creak of the floorboards against his toes and the quiet shuffle of his blanket as it drags along the ground leaves him wincing, but no stirrings come from outside. No wandering monsters open the door looking to check in on him, and so after ten or so steps he settles, walking with just as much care, but slightly more confidence. Sans pads his way to the door gently, not the one out into the hall but the corner one he shares with Papyrus between their adjoining rooms, and opens it slowly.

He had chosen the alternate route only in hopes that it would be quieter, allowing him to skip the section of the hall closer to Gaster’s room and therefore avoid waking him with his noise before he makes it to the lab rooms. But, when he passes by Papyrus’s bed, he cannot stop himself from stilling, drawn to the sleeping face of his brother as he turns quietly in his sleep, sighing and murmuring in time with his dreams.

 

He’s getting bigger, Sans notes idly. Shooting up in a way Sans himself never did, either by way of being provided better access to food and shelter than Sans had at his age—wherever that might have been, lost in the foggy places his memories will not extend—or simply by luck of genetics. He’s thinner too, but in a healthy, normal-looking way. Where Sans is scrawny and small, seeming two seconds away from just collapsing to the average viewer, Papyrus is tall and sturdily built on long limbs and firm bones.

 

They’re changes he’d not noticed until now, among many other little things, and it _grates_ , to be struck over the head not for the first time with the realization of just how much of his brother’s life he has missed, is missing. The work with Gaster is always demanding and all engrossing, and he can understand now more than ever why Gaster had lost track of days and weeks, and even of news of the outside world so important as the presence of human children, when he’d first taken over the position. Between that, and Sans’s sheer dedication to the cause he has sold himself to, his drive to control the barrier and the loops before the next human may fall, it has become his life, and socialization or relaxation secondary, especially lately.

 

As such, it’s not really surprising the effort he once put into spending time with his brother has fallen to the wayside—even if it is, reflectively, disappointing. It’s the kind of vague disappointment he knows he should feel over his descent from the heights of childhood moral simplicity into the wide chasm between right and wrong, even as he acknowledges the change has been for the sake of practicality. He has not been to his brother what he should have been, in recent years, but that is because he loves Papyrus, and is trying to do what is best for him, for _all_ of them, in the long run.

 

At least, that is what he tells himself, when he strays into one of Rose’s reading lessons to Papyrus, or upon Gamma playing knights with him, and he is left floundering at his brother’s smiling face and demands that he join them, demands he often denies. Sans is distant, absent even, but it is all for good reason.

 

…Sometimes, he wonders if it was inevitable. If whatever it was that made him the devoted, loving brother he once strived to be above all else broke when the human died. He was never quite the same after that, and Papyrus knew it too, even if he didn’t quite know why.

 

“It’s for you,” he says quietly, memorizing his brother’s face, lax in sleep, as if it is the last image he might see of it. “I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I promise so much of this is for you. So that you never have to know the things I do. And if that means you’ll never quite understand why I’m like this, at least that means I’ll have done my job properly.”

 

On impulse, he leans forward and drops a feather-light kiss on Papyrus’s forehead, breathing a sigh of relief when his brother stirs and mumbles, but does not wake. “I love you. Even when I’m not there, even if I have to go down with this sinking ship one day to keep you from it, I love you. I always will.”

 

He tries not to consider the strange finality of those words. They are not meant to be as such, only a reassurance, whether to himself or somehow to Papyrus, he does not know.

 

Sans slips from the room quietly, watching the slice of light from the hall as it catches across the side of Papyrus’s skull and illuminates it, fading only to a sliver again as he pulls the door shut behind him. Straightening up, he lets out a long breath as he observes the silent corridor, devoid of other life, and then makes his way to the labs of Gaster’s floor, sights set on the promise of truth. He doesn’t know where exactly to start looking, so filled with secrets and records in all its nooks and crannies as this place is, but he has a feeling where he might start.

 

Gaster’s office, with its locked drawers along its walls and under his desk, beneath the watchful eyes of the many photographs of the staff over the years he has pinned to the walls between the wallpaper of old notes and foldout anime posters.

 

Getting in isn’t the hard part—the room is only on a simple magic signature check, and his, amongst everyone else who lives or works here, is set to be an acceptable entry code. No, the tricky part is deciding where to start.

 

On instinct he selects a filing cabinet at random, his guesswork based only on the older photos of Wind, barely an adult, and then Wind and Rose, crowding its top. The notes he is looking for will be old, and so: older notes, older photographs. It’s not much to go on, but he can guess the newer-looking installations with photos of Alphys, Sans, and Papyrus on it will likely not hold what he is looking for.

 

The locks prove to be the more complicated piece of the equation. Built on the same system as the one Gaster long ago installed into that bottom drawer in Sans’s room where he hides much of the human’s possessions and the evidence of her existence from prying eyes, so too are these ones meant only to open for one magic signature, and one magic signature only. Realistically, Sans doesn’t know just how complicated or strong such locks might be. A simple crowbar might do the trick, but at the same time might set off alarms he knows Gaster likely has in place.

 

No, the only practical option with a chance of working is to outsmart the system, trick it into believing this _is_ Gaster at its door. Given Gaster is confident in his ability to build what other monsters cannot break, as he should be, it’s likely not an eventuality he ever worried for. The average monster, this including Asgore or his guards, could never beat Gaster’s creations.

 

But Sans is not the average monster. It’s the reason why he’s here in the first place, after all.

 

“No offense, G,” he murmurs to the empty night air, “but if I could break your security cameras before I ever even got near a magic technology textbook, then I’m pretty sure after three years access to your library I can pick your locks.”

 

It’s the work of a light hour’s fiddling. What little literature he’s gained access to on the subject in the past, amongst the many, _many_ books he’s been through looking for answers and solutions, agrees there’s relatively no practical ways to imitate someone else’s magic signature. While similarities might be held between family members or members of the same monster species, as would similarities in genetic codes between humans, the magic signature is too closely interconnected with the soul, and with the consciousness, to be anything less than strictly unique to each individual. To create a passable imitation under one’s own steam simply wouldn’t work—even the best of mirage and copying type magic would not suffice.

 

However, that doesn’t rule out the possibility of using sleeping traces of another’s magic signature to trick a signature-checking system into believing that said person is present, and so that’s a theory Sans puts to good use.

 

It’s not an overly complicated process, really, to take apart some of the outer shell of the lock and poke around its system enough to connect it to an old charging mechanism built like a large, reusable battery Gaster had designed to run off his own magic, and convince the system that the remnants of Gaster’s stored magic are in fact _him_ long enough to get it to begin to open up. After that, it’s the short work of diving in before the system can recognize the deception, and frying it with an overload of Sans’s own magic, breaking the entire mechanism completely in a manner like infecting a computer with a virus it cannot be rid of.

 

When light dawns, the damage will be obvious, left in sparking wires and burnt sensors and the metallic smell of great traces of his particular brand of magic, but Sans is not here trying to disguise his actions permanently. He just wants answers. Whether Gaster knows afterward that he got them hardly matters to him.

 

Towards the matter of being economical with his time, Sans opts to sort through each unlocked drawer before moving on to opening the next, and so begins the tedious work of searching for something with little to no idea of what it will look like, or even the confidence it will be there at all. He tries not to let his eyes stray as he sorts through years and decades of folders, journals, and photo albums, before moving onto the next drawer, and the next, and the next. Gaster’s history, his loves and losses, are not Sans’s to know. He has no entitlement to this past, and to share it should be a choice, as it was between himself and Wind.

 

He only wants one answer, in the name of what Gaster might have done to a dog that possibly could have been a surface dweller once, so many lifetimes ago. It’s not strictly right, to go seeking such things when he is not invited to know them, but neither is the suggested act performed, and if it will bring him closer to understanding, to knowing what Gaster would give for such a thing, and what he himself may be dealing with in regards to the creature that haunts the fuzzy edges of his existence, then so be it. This is the grey area, in all its shadiest forms, and he has accepted his place in it well and truly by now.

 

Toby has always been an anomaly, a break from how the rules of existence in the Underground should function, and now Sans just needs to understand how he got that way.

 

Gaster’s patterns, and his personality as a creature of habit amongst fits of seeming spontaneity disguising careful calculation, are known to Sans, and so when he finally strays upon a doubly-locked drawer at the bottom of Gaster’s desk, filled to the brim with carefully labeled tapes, he knows he’s found what he’s looking for.

 

He counts back years in his head, calculating roughly what dates he might be looking for, and then snatches up a stack of tapes among the rows, setting them upon the desk carefully as he shuffles forward, scowling at the fact that he still needs to sit on his knees to comfortably reach the top of the desk from Gaster’s chair. Bracing his hands on the armrests, he wobblingly clambers to his feet, gaining the necessary height for a few scant seconds to snatch the tape recorder off a high shelf above him before returning to the relative safety of his knees. He sets up the tape recorder quickly, plugging in the large headphones that barely sit on his skull without slipping off, and selecting the first tape. Somewhere around here, he is sure, is the necessary machine to have each tape transcribed to a readable data pad, but he does not have that kind of luxury of waiting. Time may have miraculously slowed for him as he sorted, but he still only has a few hours at best until the others awaken, and he needs all he can get.

 

…Besides, this is one truth he needs to hear from Gaster’s words alone, not letters on a screen.

It’s a guessing game of times and events, done only on estimates and patchwork knowledge, and as much as he resolves to skip listening to anything he can—for while he is sure he has selected tapes years after Gaster’s human’s death, straying across any grieving reflections on her or the event is something he’d like to avoid, among other things—it’s impossible to truly guess whether a tape has what he is looking for without at least listening to sections, in order to check he has not accidentally skipped over what he seeks in case it inevitably lies at the middle or end of a tape.

 

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity of carefully _not listening_ to as much as possible of Gaster’s old recorded notes and thoughts, and watching the turning clock with a careful eye, what he is here looking for comes to him in a moment of shuddery breaths and stuttered worries into the recording that leave him sitting bolt upright, eyes trained on nothing as he stumbles upon the beginning of something unfolding, something he was likely never meant to know of.

 

 _“Entry number sixty-three, log year—“_ There’s a shriek of static that leaves Sans wincing and clutching at the headphones in the place of ears, but the tape continues, and he is left frozen. _“—Today…”_ A pause, quiet shuffling that leaves him easily imagining Gaster shifting restlessly, unsurely, as he holds the recorder to his lips. _“T-today, Toby collapsed while walking down the stairs. Just…fell down and didn’t get back up. He’s been slowing down for a while now, and I think—“_ There comes a sniffling, followed by wet hacking coughs Sans can long recognize from his own behaviors as the muffling of sobs. _“I t-think he’s dying. I don’t really know how long Surface dogs are supposed to live for, but maybe…no. No, I know. He’s dying.”_

The sharp fangs of the head Temmie glint in Sans’s mind, her whispers of suggested hidden sins committed against the passage of death echoing against pitiable, resigned thoughts. And so he closes his eyes, and he listens to something he is decades too late to stop, even if he found it in himself to want to.

 

_“Entry number sixty-four: It’s not good. Toby was moving so slowly yesterday, after his fall, and when it came near time for bed he just lay down and refused to get back up. I’ve set him up in his bed with an extra blanket, and moved him onto a lab counter to keep a better eye on him. Normally, I’d be worried about him jumping off and hurting himself. He was always so adventurous, like her. But somehow…I don’t think…I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that anymore.”_

_“Entry number sixty-five: His breathing’s slowing down, getting shallow. I’ve spent all day at his side, petting him and talking to him, trying to reassure him. I set up a bed on the sofa, I don’t want to leave him alone. I try to tell myself I’m comforting him with my proximity, but in truth, I think the one I’m trying to comfort is myself.”_

_“Entry number sixty-six: I won’t lose him, I **can’t** lose him. He’s all I have left of—there must be a way, surely.”      _

_“Entry number sixty-seven: Toby stopped breathing today. I just…panicked, went on autopilot. I managed to resuscitate him, and he’s sedated and set up with the necessary machines to monitor his heartbeat and regulate his breathing._

_…I don’t know what I’m doing, to be quite frank. What little literature I have on the subject of veterinary, or even human medical practices, is so sparse and outdated that basically everything I’m doing is a patchwork method of educated guesses and instinct. I can only pray it keeps working.”_

_“Entry number sixty-eight: He looks so small. I remember when I first saw him, sitting next to her. He was always little, but so fluffy and full of life, a child animal for another child. She should have been here with him, in his final hours.”_

_“Entry number sixty-nine: Is what I’m doing hurting him? Is forcing him to live like this causing him pain? God, I am so sorry, I am too selfish to let you go. I can’t. I don’t want to be alone. Not again.”_

_“Entry number seventy: Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, **fuck**. Fuck me. Fuck Asgore. Fuck God. Fuck nature. Fuck **this**. This isn’t **fair**._

_“Entry number seventy-one: …I think I_ — _I have an idea.”_

_“Entry number seventy-two: There was…there was a theory, once, that my predecessor did extensive work on. After the War, there was so much grief, so much pain, and it just kept intensifying. So many of us were dying, lives cut short in a new way we’d never experienced, and we didn’t know why. We blamed it on the Underground—a change in environment that couldn’t sustain us, perhaps a sickness hidden amongst these caves. But we feared it was something else, humanity’s final curse against us._

_…For a while, we believed we would all die down here. We were desperate, fleeing as far back from the barrier as we could get and searching a way to save ourselves. Many spoke in hushed voices about the humans and their souls, their ability to continue on after death. Humans need physical bodies, made of more than soul and magic, but we don’t. Surely, if we had that, we could survive this._

_But we didn’t._

_It slowed, eventually. A plague became a sickness, which in turn became a tragic, freak disease. But it never went away, and those of us who lived through it, we never forgot._

_My predecessor never forgot. Even when the plague faded, when everyone else walked away from it all, she always kept looking for an answer._

_She was a brilliant woman, but she was…scarred, by the War, and by the plague. She had lived a lifetime on the surface in peace, and then was forced to watch her people decimated, locked somewhere where there is no sun, and then cut down again. I was young—young enough to bounce back over time, despite my scars. She was not._

_Chara…Chara was the last straw, I think. Even a human, with all their strength, she could not save. She cursed everything—always told me that their heart was too monster, too full of love for the Underground. It was what killed them._

_…And then there was the first—second, I suppose—human, our first human **soul**._

_She just—that theory—she couldn’t let it go._

_…_

_We extracted…samples, with Asgore’s permission. Broke them down, tore them apart, went back for more. We were trying to isolate that…that one component, what it was that allowed them to keep going even after death._

_…Honestly, I’m amazed that there’s anything left of that soul. We took so much of it, more than Asgore ever knew, and yet it remained intact._

_Speaks to just how much humans—human **children** can endure, I suppose. They persist, even when…even when it would be easier to give up._

_…God, I wish she’d given up._

_We—ah, we never found anything concrete, of course._

_…I remember when she caught it, the sickness. Remember watching her waste away, shape and soul and memory. It seemed ironic, that the sickness would take a woman who had worked for so many years to try and prevent it._

_She knew she was dying, that if she did not act she would fall and never get back up. Her soul was already half gone. The only question remaining was whether there was a way she could preserve what was left, or even persevere without it._

_She became her own test subject. I helped steady her hands when she injected the needle. Raw extractions from the soul, different kinds—we didn’t know which, if any, was the one for longevity._

_I did not appreciate until so much later that what we should have been looking for was whatever gave the humans access to the timelines, that the two things—both affronts to death—might be one, or at least connected. I didn’t know. Not then._

_…What she became, the world never knew. I called Asgore, he helped me hide her in that basement, where we housed our most fragile experiments, our most dangerous secrets. We locked her up as she melted and fell apart, over the course of so many hours and days, until there was nothing left._

_Later, after the appropriate mourning time, when I inherited control of the labs, I moved all my work to the main lab under the castle, picked another floor for my own secrets. I washed away every trace of what happened there, built an aboveground facility over it and claimed it was all part of a new extension. No one questioned it, not with Asgore there to help me cover it up._

_At the time…at the time, I felt so grateful, that he was there to help me cover up my sins. Now I just feel dirty. We lied to the world. He kept my secret and in turn I kept his. Even now._

_I don’t think—no, I **would** tell the public, if I could. All of it—what he has done, what **I** have done—they deserve to know._

_…But who would believe me? Even more so, with the humans, who would care? I am alone. I have always been alone._

_They should know that—fuck, they should know what happened. I should be held accountable._

_I am…I am so sorry, Ileia. I tried to save you, I really did. But in the end we both killed you—suicide and murder in one act, albeit unintended._

_You were the first death on my hands, but not the last._

_River—they once told me everyone…every **thing** I love will be lost to me. Sometimes I’m very afraid it’s the truth._

_…_

_Toby…_

_His breathing keeps slowing…_

_I never—I never had the strength to continue the work. To take anything more away from those pour souls, but…there are still samples left, from her experiments._

_…It did not work for Ileia—would not work, for a normal monster. But Toby is no monster._

_He is a creature of the surface, with a physical body like that of a human._

_He would not melt. He would not fade to dust._

_Maybe…there is a way, still.”_

_“Entry number seventy-three: Can I really justify doing this, after what I’ve seen? Knowing what it could do?_

_Toby depends on me. I am the only master he has known for the better part of a decade, since my—since his mistress’s passing. The trust there, between pet and caretaker, is implicit._

_To do this, there is an overwhelming likelihood he will suffer enormously, assuming he even survives the procedure. It violates every tenement of that trust._

_...But he’s **dying**._

_I’ve come this far, right? I’ve put him through so much already, don’t I owe it to him to try and save him after all that?_

_…No. I’m only doing this for myself. If I were truly selfless, I would let him die a natural death, and be at peace._

_Fucking— **fuck**. Christ, I’m no better than Asgore, am I? We’ll both destroy anything, pervert any natural law and order, if it gets us what we want. _

_…I need a fucking drink.”_

_“Entry number seventy-four: I’m sorry. I wish I were a better man._

_But if that were the case, I wouldn’t be here in the first place, would I?_

_…I’ve found the old sample cases. There should be enough.”_

_“Entry number seventy-five: I’ve isolated two extracts I think show the most promise—sample D, and sample M. Sample D is…compelling, to say the least. It is something I have never seen before in monster soul studies, as limited as they are. There are many components of human souls different from our own, but something about this one feels particularly…potent._

_Sample M is…tricky. It seems quite neutral, really, almost entirely unassuming. But something about it—my gut tells me it could be incredibly distinct, even overwhelming, under different circumstances. It’s a…potentiality, perhaps in a different soul it would…_

_Well, if nothing else, it seems to balance out Sample D well. Together, the two might be palatable._

_I have little to no way to concretely determine which—if either—is the human component for longevity, or for power over the timelines. These are merely guesses._

_I just have to hope neither is something…bad.”_

_“Entry number seventy-six: The compounds are ready, a balance of the samples and anything else I could take from Toby’s makeup or my own monster physiology to try and prevent any negative side effects. For this to work, Toby’s soul must become monster enough to take to human soul strains—as a monster absorbing a full human soul would—and still retain his physical form._

_…Today.”_

_“Entry number seventy-seven: It seems almost too simple, in retrospect. All that buildup: trying to isolate the right samples, dilute them to safe levels, find the perfect mixture…_

_All that machinery to keep Toby physically alive, in the meantime—my ticking time bomb in the background, reminding me what I’ve cobbled together could give out at any moment._

_…And after all that, it’s just a simple injection._

_And all I can do is—_

_All I can do is wait.”_

_“Entry number seventy-eight: Just passed the twenty-four hour mark—still no change. I’m not sure how long is appropriate to wait before trying another dosage, or…alternative measures._

_If I wait too long between doses, I run the risk of the machinery giving out. Give too many and…_

_Well. I know what failure on this looks like.”_

_“Entry number seventy-nine: thirty-six hours. No change.”_

_“Entry number eighty: forty-eight hours. If my memory serves correct, any negative side effects would have presented by now. Assumedly, that means it would now be acceptable to administer another dose._

_…But my memory is based off a **monster’s** reaction to this. Toby isn’t a monster, that’s the whole point. _

_What if I’m wrong?”_

_“Entry number eighty-one: Sixty hours. Fuck it. What could go wrong?_

_…Who am I kidding? A lot. A lot could go wrong.”_

_“Entry number eighty-two: **Come on** , **Toby**.”_

_“Entry number eighty-three: Seventy-two hours. I don’t—_

_…I-I don’t…_

_…Please. Please wake up. I don’t know how to do this on my own.”_

_“Entry number eighty-four—“_

A rush of crackling static, hurried movements and clatters that echo into the tape.

_“He’s awake. H-he’s awake! I don’t believe it he’s—“_

A sob. The beginnings of giddy, disbelieving giggles choked between tears.

 

_“Hello. Hello! Yes, it’s me Toby! It’s Gaster. I’m here._

_Oh he’s just—he’s **alive**. He’s alive and just as he was.”_

 

Finally, there comes breathless laughter, the small sound of a dog yipping.

 

_“…Thank you. **Thank you**. God. Thank—“_

The tape ends, cut off with another shriek of feedback, and Sans leans back in his chair, carefully removing the headphones and placing them on the desk. He can still feel the buzz of the static in his head, his soul, chattering over his teeth and leaving tastes of metal and ghosts behind, and he doesn’t know what else to do with it all other than fall forward, burying his face in his arms on the desk.

 

Somewhere, distantly, he can feel his shoulders shaking. He might be crying, he might be trembling. He’s not sure.

 

He isn’t sure of a lot of things, right now.

 

There’s another quiet bark, and Sans startles, before he realizes it’s not come from the tape this time, and glances down to see a familiar form sitting at the door to the room. Sans could have sworn he closed it when he came in, but he suddenly finds that unimportant.

 

“Toby,” he croaks, and the dog barks again, trotting into the room. Sliding out of the chair, Sans slumps to the ground, curled up on himself. Toby comes to a stop in front of him, and he offers out a hand, watching blearily as Toby sniffs it before butting his nose up against it, obviously looking for a treat.

 

“Toby,” Sans says again, and he doesn’t quite know why. Toby looks back up to him, and he carefully runs his hand over the dog’s head, petting gently.

Hesitantly, he reaches out with his magic, doing something he hasn’t done for a very long time—wouldn’t have even _thought_ to do, with Toby—and feels out another’s soul. Not to grasp and attack, but just…search. Hold. Passively map out the shape.

 

To know, in search of the truth of things—as this whole misguided expedition into Gaster’s office had been.

 

Toby’s soul appears before him, flickering in the hold of his magic. And just to see it is enough, cracked and filled in and overflowing on the edges, an imperfect jigsaw puzzle—but he can _feel_ it too, energy crackling over his fingertips and power he cannot name.

 

Monster and human and sheer, raw _determination_ demanding continued survival from a broken, tired old animal soul.

 

Gaster was right.

 

Toby is not old, physically. Not anymore. He is not dying. He is not in pain, will never be in that kind of pain—of fading away with age—again.

 

He is saved.

 

But he is not, and can never again be, natural. He is reshaped and remade, broken from the code of how things should be, and yet still here, still alive. Just one of another few hundred impossibilities, among glitches and resets and all the other secrets this lab keeps.

 

He thinks of cracking souls. Broken souls. Souls stored in containers, cut off from the life they held. Souls that are flickering and offbeat and not what they should be.

 

Thinks of that creature—that remnant. The one who inevitably brought him here, riding on theories and mere conjecture that whispered of the lost and the soulless.

 

He feels the thrum of his own soul deep inside him, and shivers.

 

“What’d he do to you?” Sans whispers, bringing his shaky hand over the back of Toby’s ear. He scratches under Toby’s jaw, and the dog pants happily. “God, what’d he do to you?”

 

There’s a creak as the desk chair finally slides away under the weight of him, bumping into the desk itself with a painfully loud noise, and Sans tenses, catching his breath in his chest and abruptly pulling his hands back from Toby to ball up as if that might stop the sound. Whining, Toby sniffs him once before trotting away to his bed in the corner of the room—one of the many dotted around the labs—and Sans watches him with bated breath.

 

Eventually, when no noises indicating Gaster or Papyrus has awoken come, Sans gives a sigh of relief, and stands up carefully. Surveying the room, he takes in the damage, and feels the first bits of shame knot up inside him.

 

“What have _I_ done?” Sans murmurs almost unthinkingly, and in his corner Toby makes a wet, snuffling noise as he settles down in his bed.

 

At the time, the logic that his destruction didn’t matter because Sans didn’t intend to conceal his actions had seemed reasonable. But looking over it now, he just feels…bad.

 

His eyes trail over broken, smoking locks, strewn paperwork, half-open filing drawers, and he winces.

 

Strike bad—guilty, more like.

 

How fair of him is it, really, to excuse his actions like this? To blame his feelings of something like betrayal and his descent into those grey places where truth is not freely given, when he had not less than three years ago screamed for Gaster’s honesty in all things.

 

Trust. That is what he had asked for, when that first inspection had occurred. Trust in all things.

 

He had asked Gaster to trust him. But for trust to be given, it must also be received.

 

How is what he has done—how is _this_ trust?

 

The first beckoning of a secret, a lie, and he’d jumped on it without thought—and for what? Because the fucking _Temmies_ had told him so?

 

So Gaster has secrets. So does Sans. There are—there are so many things he has not told him. Of where he came from, or the lack of it. Of the rush of the river as he choked on his first breaths of life, of human smiles and polaroid pictures and the whisper of the Riverperson that still screams _Riverborn, Riverborn, Riverborn_ in his ears.

 

He trusts the man with his life, and yet cannot speak of these things, and he’s not even sure why.

 

And yet, the concept of Gaster—of _anyone_ —keeping secrets from him, even things he has no right to know, things that happened long before he was a party to their lives, is something he can’t seem to bear.

 

…God, he’s so selfish.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ he hears Gaster say all over again, into a tape lifetimes before Sans. _I wish I were a better man._

_But if that were the case, I wouldn’t be here in the first place, would I?_

 

“No,” he murmurs tiredly. “We wouldn’t be.”

 

With a sigh, Sans walks over to the nearest pile of spilled files, and gets to work shuffling them back into some semblance of order. He still has no intention to lie to Gaster about his actions—he deserves that much honesty from him, at least. But he can still make an effort to at least repair some of his damage, however superficial.

 

His hand brushes over another set of jumbled papers, and his eyes automatically scan over the symbols—soul and self and magic and a host of other familiar things.

 

The lost soul effect papers, he realizes. The originals.

 

Hurriedly, unthinkingly, he grabs at the lot of them, flipping over the first one he had been observing and gaze falling desperately on looping, dancing script in Common.

 

“Ileia,” he says quietly, fingers running over the words. Gaster’s predecessor, the first Royal Scientist—just who was she? What was she like?

 

…Who was Gaster, when he was _her_ child prodigy? Who was he before the human? Before Toby, before Wind, before Sans?

 

 _Soul creation: unviable_ , it reads, and he laps it up hungrily.

_Soul displacement: potential._

_Soul augmentation: survival?_

 

_Barrier problem: growing._

 

**_It is feeding on us._ **

 

_Must get Wingdings to run the tests again. A solution must be found._

He flips it back over, and his stomach lurches as he scans the now familiar diagrams again. Soul theories. Drawings of souls, fragmented, changed, remade.

 

Toby snores in his corner, sound asleep, and suddenly the noise is thunderous.

 

He knows what remade souls look like, doesn’t he?

 

 _Seven years. Use them wisely, Riverborn,_ the Riverperson’s voice tells him for the millionth time over.

 

His magic prickles over his fingers, awakened by his agitation, and he drops the papers.

 

He can’t be here right now.

 

He just—can’t.

 

Sans doesn’t run, but it’s a near thing as he exits the room and heads for the elevator out of Gaster’s floor, not sure where he’s going beyond just…out. Somewhere else, where these secrets and his own betrayal of Gaster’s trust do not lie.

 

He barely notices when Toby awakens and follows at his heels.

 

 

xxx

 

 

It would be easier, Sans thinks, when he is vaguely lost somewhere in the upper levels of the labs—shadow and his growing sense of disorientation muddling his ability to know where he is—if he did not understand why Gaster had made the choices he did.

 

If he didn’t understand the temptation, the drive to do all that’s possible to save someone you care about.

 

But having lost as he has, having _loved_ as he has, Sans can’t deny if it had been the human, or Papyrus, or any of the lab staff, or even Gaster himself dying, and the option had been there to take a risk that might save them, that he wouldn’t at least strongly consider it.

 

It’s easy to think you are strong, that you would not break the way of things just to spare yourself the pain of losing someone, when you don’t have that option to begin with.

 

It’s quite another to be laid out with the necessary tools, and know it might just be a possibility.

 

And for better or for worse, Sans is not selfless enough to confidently say he could make that choice in the right way. He’s too much like Gaster—loving too strongly and too afraid to be alone again.

 

Shadows dance on the walls, and Sans thinks of the human. How the two of them had laid out their secrets to one another in a childish fit of desperate trust, and their decisions had seemed easy in the knowing that they were _right_ when they said to themselves _the world has taken so much from us, we will not allow any more. We will survive, and we will not resort to that same taking that has hurt us._

 

It was simpler, when the world was black and white. When he knew he was good, and the human was good, and those that wanted to hurt them were bad, end of story.

 

And now…now his closest allies—his closest _friends_ —are a former Royal Guard, and a man that works for Asgore even as he loathes him, with secrets and mistakes buried deep in these underground halls. Now he knows the damage Asgore can do to monsters, too. Knows the impossibilities of muddling out decades upon decades of teaching in the Underground that the world, humans and monsters, are only one way—the bad, and the good.

 

Hell, he can’t even hate _Undyne_ properly. Not anymore. And that, if anything, should have been easy. She’d insulted the human, nearly gotten him killed.

 

Christ, does he hate growing up. Seeing the world in all these shades of grey.

 

Ironically, he thinks, it was the human who brought this into his life. When she walked through that door, and showed him through a lifetime all their own that some humans are truly evil, like her parents were, but some are impossibly kind, like herself. She was what broke the Underground-taught mold of good monsters and bad humans, and perhaps that was what made it inevitable that he can’t even cling to many notions of specific “bad monsters,” anymore.

 

Well, he still hates Asgore, but that’s a given. There are some things that just can’t be forgiven.

 

He wishes he could know everyone the way he knows Wind. Could crawl inside their minds and see their lives through their own eyes. Then, he could be sure he understood everything, knew the contents of their hearts down to the minute details. No lies. No deceit.

 

Then—no matter whom they are now, or where they come from—he could know if they are truly good more than they are bad, truly trustworthy.

 

…Would he be willing to let them in his own head, in return, though?

 

Only Wind. Only Gaster. Everyone else could not understand why he is as he is, surely.

 

Next to him, Toby makes a whuffling noise, trotting as he sniffs along the floor, and Sans feels a smile come to him, despite it all.

 

“Are you glad he saved you? That he took that risk?” Sans asks, and Toby looks up, whining at him.

 

“…I think I am,” Sans admits, as he tries to imagine life without Toby. Without the small, fluffy presence that barks at Rose and messes up experiments and makes Ficus laugh, that bit Asgore in defense of him, that comes crawling into his bed to be a living plush toy when his nightmares come. “I don’t know if it was right. I don’t think it was. But I’m still glad, somehow.”

 

He’s not sure if he feels more relief or shame at the admission.

 

Toby barks, as if in agreement, and while Sans knows he can’t understand him, really—soul augmentation is good but not _that_ good—he still laughs. It’s a moment of something like happiness, if only a moment, as he nudges open the next door in front of him on his meandering wander.

 

It’s not until he is several steps into the room that he considers again where he might be, still as lost as before—and stops short as the wavering shadows finally settle enough to give him a clue.

 

He gulps.

 

The Hotland extension.

 

Or—not the extension, as he now knows. No, part of the original labs, when they were first built. Only the aboveground level is new, a clever addition to create a lie and hide what happened here.

 

This was the original place of secrets in this lab. Before Gaster’s floor and the human he kept there. Before Wind and the basement she buried the skills of her past in.

 

Hesitantly, he runs a hand over the nearest countertop.

 

What secrets could these walls tell him, if he could ask? What more had Gaster seen he does not know? What had _Ileia_ known, that she had not told Gaster?

 

 _It is feeding on us_.

 

The words on her note chew at him, and he can’t seem to puzzle them out. _What_ was feeding on them? That sickness? The Underground? It’s not a kind of language Gaster had ever used in his presence. Nothing he has learned in his three, almost four, years at the labs rings with any ounce of familiarity at the phrase. It is a complete unknown.

 

Then again, given he’d never even heard of this disease before—doesn’t even have any idea what its current form is, if it actually still exists—it’s not surprising he has no idea what he’s looking at.

 

It’s…frustrating.

 

 _“Take a walk,”_ Wind had told him when he’d first become tangled in his frustrations over their lack of progress in solving the barrier. Well, he’d taken a walk—two, at this point—and all he’d been left with is more questions. Completely barrier unrelated questions, at that.

 

From the barrier, to the human souls, to Toby, to this disease and the ‘cure’ that had killed Gaster’s predecessor—which just leads back to the human souls, in a way. Again. It’s all one interconnected web and Sans feels like he’s caught in the center without a hope of puzzling it all out.

 

Next to him, he feels Toby sit down. The soft, grounding weight of his side leaning up against Sans’s shinbone. Toby pants happily, and Sans glances down at him, picking out his bright eyes and the shape of his white body in the gloom of night. He remembers what it had felt like—to reach out and touch Toby’s soul, to _feel_ the marks left behind by that fragmentation, that reforming.

 

That augmentation.

 

Toby’s makeup, his entire being, had shifted beneath the surface. Undeniably remade, yet invisible at first glance. To the eye, he is just a normal dog—a _monster_ dog, even. No hint of his origins, of the changes he experienced.

 

He is made up of two levels: the surface, and the inner workings.

 

Just as is the Underground: the remnant, the creature that walks between his world and something else, untouched and largely unseen, save by him, is proof of that. There is more to what keeps the Underground, the barrier, in balance, than meets the eye. It is greater—or lesser, perhaps—than the sum of its visible parts.

 

Like Toby, like himself.

 

Of course, with Sans it is easy. He is undeniably truly _lesser_ than what he appears to be, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is the answer, the way to begin to solve this puzzle.

 

Carefully, almost instinctually, he reaches a hand out in front of him. Presses out with his magic, in this place of ghosts, in search of…something. Anything. Any trace of whatever allows this remnant to wander in and out of his world as it pleases.

 

Surely, of all places, he’d find it here. Whatever Ileia had been doing—whatever Toby has become—it is undeniably related.

 

He just…knows, somewhere deep in his soul.

 

For a long while, there’s nothing, and he mostly gives up. Dropping his hand with a sigh, he glances down when Toby looks up to him, yipping quietly, and Sans smiles. He bends down slightly, enough to scratch behind Toby’s ears, and doesn’t realize he hadn’t quite relinquished the search of his magic until he touches Toby, and the dance of his magic crackles off Toby’s fur.

 

He feels it bounce and rebound, jumping off the augmented parts of Toby’s soul back to his own, glitching magic recognizing glitching magic, and he yelps as he feels something _else_ glitch around him, unbidden.

 

And then an onslaught of sound rushes up to meet him.

 

Sans slams his eyes shut, hunching over and slapping his hands over the sides of his head in a desperate attempt to escape the sudden _noise_. There’s screaming all around him—a deafening rush of anguish and exhaustion and _pain_. He can hear whispers through it all, fragmented and damaged and entirely nonsensical. Made up of broken voices that no longer have a full story to tell. Somewhere in the background there’s the muttering of equations, and he knows, somehow, it’s Ileia, lifetimes back in this lab, so close to touching this place herself as she searches for the answer.

 

She found it, when she and Gaster injected her, brought her closer to the edge of disintegration, of—of—

 

What _is_ this?

 

It hurts.

 

God, it hurts, and he doesn’t know why.

 

Very far away, and yet incredibly close all at once, in this place, he feels a stirring of power, something so alike to him it terrifies him as it reaches out, asking wordlessly what he is.

 

 ** _Mine,_** it says, and he thinks hysterically of flowers, dirt in his mouth and a choking sensation and _let me out let me out let me_ —

 

Suddenly, another presence is at his back, suspended in the nothingness with its arms looped around his chest and its knees digging into his spine, as if they were lying together in an awkward sleeping position.

 

It should be terrifying. It isn’t.

 

Instead, its energy crackles over him, exactly his own and yet _not_ , and in an instant the noise is gone, the other presence that left him suffocating in a panic, a _rage_ not his own, dispersed.

 

“Stop it,” it whispers to him, full of pain, and that voice— _he knows that voice—“_ Why do you do these things to yourself?”

 

He wants to respond, but he _can’t_ , and its hand, smaller than his own, is already on his. Tiny, delicate fingers plucking his own from Toby’s fur, breaking the connection between his magic and the broken mayhem of Toby’s created from the remnants of that soul and the echoes of Gaster’s own.

 

And then it is all gone, and he is in the labs once more, his legs weak as they shake and give out. Toby whines, wiggling into his lap and licking his face, and Sans clings to him desperately, thankful for the physical weight to reassure him he is still here and alive and not…whatever being there was, even as he is more grateful his magic is too burnt out to even hint at reacting to Toby’s again.

 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and his whole head feels fuzzy. “Fucking _hell_. What the _fuck_ was that?”

 

 _You wanted an answer, didn’t you,_ some quiet part of him murmurs, and he shakes it off. _That_ wasn’t an answer, that was—that was an assault and a question and a demand all at once. Something not to be touched by any sane monster and yet something that calls to him.

 

No—something _in_ there called to him, crawling over his spine and feeling like growing roots amongst his ribs, cracking apart bone as it desperately looked for somewhere to grow, somewhere to escape to.

 

And then something else yet again found him, without the slightest hesitation or question, and rescued him.

 

He shivers, stumbling to his feet, dizzy and disoriented as the world tilts around him. Putting a hand out blindly next to him, Sans shakily feels around until he hits the edge of one of the lab counters, steadying himself on it. He tries to push back his panicked thoughts, the return of the buzzing static in his head. Focus on breathing and fighting down the nausea he can feel rising and strictly _not thinking_ about Ileia’s words— _feeding on us feeding on us feeding on us_ —and the hundreds of un-voices he’d felt coalescing in that…place.

 

Sans had only touched the edge of it, for scant seconds, he knows. Somehow, he knows _that_ was not what it truly looks like, what it really is, not entirely. And yet it still felt overwhelming.

 

After several long moments, once the room has stopped tilting on its axis in his eyes and his knees no longer shake beyond control, he straightens up slightly, eyes roaming to relocate Toby after he’d accidentally, unceremoniously, knocked the dog out of his lap when he’d gotten up.

 

Sans finds Toby sitting only scant feet from him, ears perked and eyes trained—but not on him. On something else he cannot see, on the opposite side of the room. He feels the prickle of that same glitching magic on the edge of his consciousness, and Sans shakes his head desperately, trying to wrench himself free of it.

 

“Toby,” he hisses, and the dog glances to him, ears back and whining, before he looks once more to whatever it is Sans can’t see. Trembling, he pushes himself off the lab counter’s side, reaching out to grab the edge of Toby’s collar and tug futilely. “ _Toby_.”

 

Toby doesn’t move, focus on whatever it is he sees—whatever it is he can sense in his ability to encroach on that distorted space that Sans cannot—and when Sans pulls gently at his collar again he yelps sharply. Startled, Sans lets go, and Toby turns, bolting across the room and out the door on the other side, leading further into the Hotland extension.

 

“Shit—Toby! Come back!” Without thinking, Sans chases after him, slamming through the doorway into the next room of the labs and then onto the next after that, following glimpses of white fur and darting paws, and leaving the echoes of Ileia’s ghost behind.

 

Toby chases, and Sans follows.

 

Toby leads him through the rest of the labs, winding through shadowed rooms and long hallways, and when they finally reach the elevator Sans wonders if he’s going to have to chase him through Hotland as well, before Toby makes a sharp turn and disappears into a hole between two large struts of piping running over the wall. Cursing, Sans stumbles as he adjusts his course, narrowly avoiding crashing into the elevator itself as he tries to follow Toby.

 

At the gap Toby vanished into, Sans pauses, hands resting carefully onto the pipes as he peers into the darkness. “…Toby?” Hissing, he turns, edging himself into the hole, and praying he doesn’t get stuck. He doesn’t want to try and live this down if Gamma or Ficus finds him wedged half in the walls of their lab spaces come morning.

 

The darkness closes up around him as he slides in, a new kind compared to the shadows of the open labs themselves, and he allows himself a hesitant glance back out at the gap he came through, where the comparative light of the labs can still be seen, trying to reassure himself it’s still there.

 

“You’re fine. It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself, and takes another cautious sidestep, hands and the backs of his shoulders skimming exposed brick and endless piping.

 

Christ, how deep are the walls here?

 

“Tob—“ he begins again, and then cuts himself off with a muted shriek, as his next step doesn’t meet floor. Doesn’t meet anything. He trips, the walls around him suddenly seeming to collapse and give way, and he falls.

 

It’s only for a scant second, but Sans thinks it might be the most terrifying moment of his life, lost and falling in an endless sea of darkness and crackling static, before he roughly slams into something, striking his back against it and knocking all the air out of him. Turning blearily, he sees a light, and scrambles for it.

 

Hands finding the edges of piping, he yanks himself out through that gap of light, and the world seems to reverse around him once more, until he’s not moving down but _forward_ , and he stumbles out onto a flat surface, gasping and reeling as his knees hit cool tile, fingers scrambling pointlessly at it for a moment, paranoid in the fear he’ll be yanked back into the darkness.

 

When nothing of the sort happens, he hesitantly glances up, and feels the breath taken from him again, though in a completely different manner.

 

He’s in the Core.

 

Pushing himself to his feet and wincing at the bruises he can already feel forming from that rough landing, Sans limps to the nearest railing, grasping it desperately to steady himself, to find reassurance this is actually _real_.

 

There’s a bark, and he locates Toby, sitting in front of him and panting happily. “How…?” he mutters, and Toby just turns, sniffing at the floor as he trots along, heading deeper into the heart of the Core. Sans watches him go, and then, shakily letting go of the railing, he takes a couple after him, amazed when the floor doesn’t give out beneath him.

 

The Core. They’re actually in the fucking _Core_.

 

Dubiously, Sans glances back at the gap he’d come through, a seemingly ordinary spot amongst the tangle of pipes and wiring. Doubt claws at the edges of his mind, even as he knows perfectly well what actually happened.

 

They shortcut—found the gap between one space and another—without glitching. Without actively using magic to convince the world around them one place should be another.

 

The Underground has passive shortcuts, glitches in the magic that holds its very structure together. Accessible, at least, to those that might create their own.

 

He needs to tell Gaster. They need to test if anyone can use these. They need to test the structure. They need to—

 

Somewhere far away, Toby barks, and Sans shakes his head.

 

He needs to get his dog. That is the priority, right now.

 

Everything else can wait.

 

Staggering forward, Sans follows the direction of Toby’s sounds into the twisting platforms of the Core.

 

He finds Toby sitting quietly at the edge of a platform, looking out into the darkness below with a patience unbefitting a dog, and he shivers, watching Toby’s utterly still frame.

 

…But he’s not a regular dog, is he? Sans knows that now.

 

“You done running now?” he asks gruffly, and Toby looks over at him, whining pitifully. Sighing, Sans goes to him, standing next to the dog and looping his arms over the edge of the railing, peering down into the void that makes up the base of the Core, endless pipes running down into empty space and a blackness he cannot parse.

 

It’s eerily like the abyss below Waterfall, but a different kind of disturbing in a way he can’t fully put to words, even in his own mind.

 

Perhaps, he thinks, it lies in the approach of it—in how one treats this encroach between monsters and a magic even they fully don’t understand yet. The residents of Waterfall had looked down into that endless dark, and had resolved there are some things they are not meant to touch, had built their homes far away and taught their children not to play in the rivers that fed into it.

 

Gaster had looked down into whatever darkness lay below the Core and had plunged into it anyways, claimed it as his own in his building of monster-made technology into something meant to be unconquerable.

 

Sans glances back down at Toby, the dog seemingly content once more, and shakes his head. “I don’t get it,” he says, defeat heavy and tasting like rotting grief in his mouth. “What were you trying to show me?”

 

Toby just whimpers, eyes still trained on what lies below them, and a cold wind seems to echo through the empty space of the Core. It feels unnatural, being here in the dark, when the processes of the Core run sleepily with no workers to guard them.

 

Hesitantly, Sans follows the arc of the wind, gaze falling back down to the darkness below. He can feel the slightest crawling of that feeling again—that _place_ —and he leans forward over the rail, mindlessly chasing it.

 

Something there is calling him—emitting mindless echoes that aren’t his name as he recognizes it, yet he knows are meant for him all the same.

 

 _Riverborn,_ the Riverperson’s voice whispers to him, and Sans chases it. What is it? What is _he?_

He has to know. He has to _understand—_

 

It’s not until Toby gives an alarmed yip that Sans realizes how far forward he’s leaned, chest bent over the railing and the edges of his toes brushing the floor, and he gives a single yelp of terror as suddenly his feet lose contact with anything altogether. Hands scrambling, he tries to pull himself back as he slowly slides over the railing, the edges of his hipbones clicking against the underside of it as he feels the darkness below reach up to claim him.

 

Not yet. He’s not ready yet. He still has too much to do, so much to make up for, _please—_

 

Toby gives one last panicked bark, and then suddenly there’s something grabbing at the back of his jacket, small but immensely strong, and unceremoniously yanking him back over the railing and onto solid ground.

 

“Christ,” Sans gasps, reeling. He staggers back blindly, legs shaking as he stumbles away from the edge of the walkway. That was too close, far too close. “Jesus. _Shit_.”

 

“You would have been fine,” a familiarly distorted voice—crackling and broken yet still managing to be sardonic—says, and Sans jumps, nearly falling over himself again in his effort to turn around. Somewhere between half-regaining his balance, and even amidst his panic cursing the fact that he’s survived multiple lives and is literally being trained by an ex-Royal Guard and still manages to be caught out by shit like this, he catches sight of the speaker, and freezes. “Well, for a given definition of fine, I suppose.”

 

“You!” he shouts, staring at it, and the creature—no, remnant, _the_ remnant, tilts its head, in recognition or in confusion, he doesn’t know.

 

“Me,” it acknowledges with a quiet whisper, a breathless scream, a calm monotone, and then it is gone, flickering back from him and further into the safety of the middle of the walkway in a mockery of his own glitching magic. Toby barks, not in warning this time but in curious greeting, and Sans can only watch, astonished, as he trots up to it, sniffing carefully at the bottom edge of its flickering being before sitting content at its feet. The remnant crouches slightly, and Sans thinks it might be smiling as its arm extends to pet Toby between his ears. “Hello Toby.”

 

Toby looks entirely at peace, and Sans can only stare, wondering if this is what Toby had been chasing the entire time.

 

Carefully, cautiously, he edges his way back further onto the walkway, still eyeing the two of them in disbelief. “What, you two know each other?” 

 

“Of course,” the remnant says after a long moment, straightening up. “I’m surprised he recognizes me, like this, but I have known…” It sighs, low and considering. “I have known him for a very long time. Since before.”

 

“…Before what?” he asks cautiously.

 

“Before I was this,” it says simply, looking to Sans, and then down to Toby again. “A lifetime ago.” Its voice is almost painfully wistful, in a kind of way Sans is all too familiar with, and he shivers, trying to dispel the feeling. This is neither the time nor place to dwell on all his own lost lives, all the things that have changed since then.

 

That isn’t what he came here for.

 

“…And when was that?”

 

He has a thousand questions for this thing—tangled up in _how’s_ and _why’s_ and the underlying question of _just what are you—_ and this, he supposes, is as good a place as any to start. This thing is not constrained to time as a regular monster is, or even as the human was. It plays by an entirely different set of rules altogether.

 

He can feel the remnant grin, sharp-edged and alive, even if he can’t _see_ it. “You’re good at that—straight to the point when it’s you who wants the answer, silent when it’s someone else asking. You’ve _always_ been good at that.”

 

Sans crosses his arms, glowering at it, frustration bubbling up and fueled by the fact that even after going so far just to find this thing, he still can’t get a straight answer. “You’ve never asked me a question.”

 

“No.” It stops short, considering. “I suppose…I haven’t, have I?” It is utterly still, studying him as he is it, and he is left with the sense it is gleaming much more from this encounter than he is. “Not _you_ , at least,” and the eeriness of how it says that, as if there’s another version of him to consult, fills him with cold dread. Sans grits his teeth against it, glaring at the remnant, and it hums, turning and glitching onto the railing along the edge of the walkway instantaneously, balancing on it and walking along with its arms extended easily. It spins, and Sans is half-convinced it’s about to fall, going to lunge forward, but it only turns around on the rail, walking along on tiptoes. “Don’t worry, I can’t fall. Not like you, not anymore.”

 

“I wasn’t worried,” he says, and it laughs, high and free in a way that contrasts with its bleak, displaced form.

 

“You’re always worrying.” It makes another twirl on the rail, and Sans curls his hands into fists at his side, desperately trying to stifle any panicked shouts the movements want to bring out. He’s not sure if it’s testing him, trying to gauge his reactions. He’s not entirely sure as to the _why_ of anything it’s doing. “I don’t think you know how not to.”

 

“You assume a lot about a person you don’t know.”

 

It freezes again, dropping its arms, and Sans tries to fight the sensation of unnatural _wrongness_ he feels, seeing it stand there on the railing, without the slightest shiver of movement.

 

“I know you,” it says, not even looking at him as it stares off somewhere into the middle distance, voice pained and hollow. “Sometimes I think I know you more than I know myself.” It’s a quiet confession, and what scares Sans the most is the brutal _truth_ that he hears in its words.

 

“And that’s not creepy at all,” he bites out, nerves sending him to sarcasm, cruel but honest. Though that can’t stop him from feeling slightly guilty when the remnant flinches almost imperceptibly at his words.

 

“I’m sorry,” it whispers, glitching into a sitting position on the railing, legs dangling, and finally looking at him once more. “I don’t mean to, but I—“ It shrugs. “It’s so easy to lose pieces of myself. You’re the only anchor I have, anymore. If I forget you...” The remnant trails off, and fear prickles over Sans’s spine. “You’re all there is, don’t you see?”

 

“That’s—I don’t even know you!” he snaps, the only protest he has against something he doesn’t even remotely understand. He’s so _tired_ of bearing the burden of things he never asked for, wars and pains that were never his to fight or to own. “I don’t even have any clue _what_ you are, let alone who you are! I’ve only met you once, and that was when you hijacked my dream and snapped my fucking neck!”

 

“…Did I do that? I suppose I must have. ” The remnant tilts its head. “It was just too early. I had to get you out of there. You weren’t— _aren’t_ ready yet.” It sighs. “Not that it seems to stop you.”

 

“…It was just a dream,” Sans says, and the remnant seems to smile at him, sad and apologetic.

 

“You know it wasn’t.”

 

Something seems to sit heavy on his chest, the weight of the memory of his _sister_ , grey and clothed in fury, pressing down on him, and Sans swallows roughly. “You mean…she…”

 

The remnant shakes its head, seeming to instantly understand. “Shadows are just shadows, she was only a figment of your guilt,” it says, and Sans doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not. If she truly hated him because of what he’d done, he doesn’t know if he could live with it, but at the same time the idea of even any remote piece of her somehow having survived what happened to her is—is—

 

“But if she wasn’t real, then—“

 

“She wasn’t, at least not any more so than she was a piece of you, but that doesn’t mean everything else was not,” the remnant cuts him off grimly. “I wouldn’t have found you, otherwise. I don’t know how you—I thought it was just an _accident_ , but then you…” It makes a frustrated sound. “Why would you seek it out again?”

 

Sans frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

The remnant huffs, and then there’s a crackle of energy and it’s just _there_ , in front of Sans. He startles, and one of its hands reaches up, just close enough to flick him gently in the forehead. It’s the same spark of glitching magic he had felt between himself and Toby, only so much more intentional, so much _stronger,_ and then Sans feels it all come up around him, a now-familiar rush of the static and a valley of pain all bound up in one spot.

 

And then it’s gone again, disappearing the second the remnant’s finger leaves him, and he gasps, staggering back and putting his arms up between himself and the remnant in a paltry shield. “Fuck, don’t _do_ that.”

 

“Do you understand now?” it snaps, sounding angry, and for some strange reason he thinks of his own _lifetimes ago_ , when the human had slapped him and begged him not to die on her behalf—the pain of someone frustrated and desperately afraid to lose someone they love.

 

…He doesn’t know why he sees that in the remnant, and it scares him.

 

“I understand plenty!” Sans spits back, bridling with anger in a desperate attempt to chase away his unexplainable fear even as he properly recognizes for the first time just how _dangerous_ the remnant is. Somehow, all he’d learned about its power and the extents of just what it might be had fallen by the wayside when he’d actually encountered it again, and now it all comes rushing back.

 

This creature had invaded his dreams and hurt him. He has felt it creep along the boundary of his world like nothing should, all magic just as strong as his and a recoiling feeling of wrongness he cannot shake. It is uncontainable and incomprehensible and nothing like any monster should be.

 

He may not understand much of anything about who it is or what it is or _why_ it is, but he knows one thing.

 

It’s not safe.

 

“Sans—“ it says, starting forward, and on instinct bred from too many deaths at the hands of people stronger than him, he snarls, his magic sparking to life in his bones. The remnant pauses, and then takes another step, and Sans instantly reaches out, meaning to grab at its soul and hold it in place because like _hell_ he’ll let it get closer to him again.

 

His magic passes over it in a wash, meeting a crackling barrier of passive resistance made up in the remnant’s mere form. It’s like looking in a distorted, cracked mirror, his magic brushing past the remnant’s own, so like his and yet so different, and meeting…nothing.

 

“…That won’t work,” the remnant says quietly, with a hint of pain. “Your blue magic. It won’t work.”

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Temmie’s smile glints, and Sans doesn’t know whether to kick himself for his stupidity or just run.

 

God help them, they had been right.

 

A creature without a soul.

 

“…What are you?” he says, trembling even as he steels himself and pulls back his magic. There’s no point to it, not against something like this. He’s not even sure how he would hurt it. This is not a battle he can fight. “You don’t have a soul—what the _fuck_ are you?”

 

The remnant hesitates, and then bows its head. “Nothing,” it whispers. “Just a leftover.” Sans takes another step back, flinching when his spine hits the railing and quickly scrambling to get away from both the edge and the remnant, backing himself into the middle of the walkway, towards the last doorway he’d come through. “ _Sans_ ,” it says pleadingly, desperately, and he shakes his head.

 

“Just—just stay away from me, please. I don’t need another enemy I can’t win against.”

 

“I’m not your enemy!”

 

“And how do I know that, huh?” he shouts back, matching the remnant’s rising volume. “What reason have you given me to trust you?”

 

He is not a child anymore. He will not trust on good will and instinct alone. Never again, not after what he’s seen of the world, through both his own eyes and other’s—not even just because of the betrayal he may find, but also the attachment.

 

Besides, even if he were inclined to give that trust, everything about the remnant sets him on edge, and he doesn’t know why. It’s not even about looking at it and seeing an adversary, it’s looking at it and seeing something he cannot distinguish, yet feels as if he should recognize.

 

Something that does not belong, no matter how hard it tries.

 

It wilts, and he shakes his head again, whether in response to it or to just try and clear his head of the underlying mess of panic and fear and ever-buzzing static he can still feel, he isn’t sure. Stumbling, he turns, and heads for the exit. He feels drained, like all the magic and all the fight has been sucked out of him.

 

He just…he can’t do this anymore. It had been stupid in the first place, to go looking for all these answers. He should have known better. Opening doors to things like this just leads to pain, to more things he was never meant to understand and to more lives he cannot save.

 

Lives he can never save. Decades too late to save Gaster’s human, Wind’s mom, and the child that had once been Nimbus, _centuries_ too late to save the first humans, to save Ileia, to save the people that shouldn’t have died, and those that meant the world to the people he…

 

The people he loves.

 

Would they have even recognized each other, he wonders in a fleeting thought he cannot shake as he walks away, if they met each other again as who they had been before? Before Gaster had helped destroy his mentor and watched his world burn? Before Wind’s future had walked off a cliff and she’d been dragged along in a fall she could not escape either?

 

Before Sans had inevitably killed the brightest star in his life?

 

They could never be the same people, afterwards. Clearly the remnant, whatever and whoever it once was, understands that much, at least.

 

Pity tugs at his heels, and he runs from it.

 

“Toby!” he calls, and somewhere behind him the dog whines, unsure.

 

His hand brushes the door, and there’s a faint, choked-off sound, pitchy and unsteady, before it breaks off in sniffles, and then picks up again—a song, hummed shakily and teeming with desperate, aching loneliness.

 

Sans realizes two things in that moment: the remnant is crying, and he _knows that song_.

 

Knows it like no other.

 

Slowly, he turns around, eyes finding the remnant sitting slumped on the ground at the exact spot it had…it had rescued him, head bowed, gazing down into the darkness, and shoulders shaking. As if in a trance, Sans feels himself move before he consciously makes the decision to, feet picking their way back to the remnant. He falls to his knees behind it, and on an instinct he cannot explain leans forward, curling himself over its back and tucking his face against the top of its head, arms wrapping around its shoulders.

 

The warbling hum cuts off, and the remnant shudders, breaking into quiet sobs. Something warm and wet splashes against the sleeves of Sans’s jacket, and he belatedly recognizes them as tears.

 

It’s so _tiny_ , he realizes properly for the first time. Smaller than him in a way very few things are. He thinks of being dragged into _that place_ , of the little fingers nimbly freeing him, of a voice he can now identify, and with a burning sense of shame, he understands.

 

“Sans?” it mumbles, sounding lost. “When did you get here?”

 

Sans blinks, confused. “I’ve…always been here.”

 

It shakes its head slightly, and though he can’t see it, he can feel the sensation of hair shifting against his skull. “No. No one can be here for _always_. You lose yourself.” It pauses. “…After too long, you become someone else.”

 

“Is that what happened to you?” he asks.

 

“I don’t _know,_ ” it cries. Hearing it _hurts_ and he doesn’t know why. “I didn’t mean to, but—I became something else. I had to, and now I’m not even sure I’m who I was, either.” It pauses, shoulders shaking. “I hope I am, even just a little bit. I don’t want to be like them.”

 

“Them?”

 

“ _Them_ ,” it says, like it should be clear, and then Sans can taste dirt again, flowers pressing up inside his skull, an imprint of the remnant’s memory transferred over to him, an echo of something they had both encountered in that place of static—something else that sung of soullessness and the unexplainable.

 

Oh, he thinks. That.

 

The remnant sniffles again, and the memory of its stuttering hums returns to him like a punch to the gut.

 

“…That song,” he says quietly, carefully, “that you were humming, where did you learn that?”

 

Because, yes, he’d known that song, known it from a lifetime ago.

 

From before he had become someone else, too.

 

“It was taught to me,” it says, and somewhere inside Sans can feel something plummet, because he’d _known_. He’d known from the moment he met this creature that is was not _her_ , not even a whisper of his sister, but for a second he’d still hoped…

 

“It was taught to me,” the remnant repeats quietly. “By someone I cared about, so that I would sleep.” He can feel it smile, somehow. Intuitively, without seeing, he just knows. “My lullaby.”

 

 _“I didn’t have anyone who would sing one for me when I was little,”_ the human’s voice whispers to him, an echo of a past long lost—of the cave and black hair tangled into messy braids and piles of shabby blankets they’d used to keep out the chill of Waterfall’s breeze. “ _So I…made up my own.”_

He shakes it off, closes his eyes. Breathes in, out. The remnant’s hair smells like citrus and the burnt flavor of overused magic. “Ok,” he says. “Ok.”

 

Sans understands.

 

He has never given voice to her lullaby, not since the cave. No one knows it—not Wind, not Alphys, not Rose, not even Gaster. Papyrus does not remember it. There is no one who could share it but him.

 

He would not part with it to just anyone, not even to many of the people he loves, not in one lifetime or a dozen.

 

Someone would have to be…incredibly important, for that.

 

“I trust you,” he says, and the remnant quakes.

 

“ _Thank you_.”

 

There’s a quiet sound, and he turns his head enough to watch Toby come over to them, tucking up against their sides and dropping his head into the remnant’s lap. It brushes a careful hand over Toby’s head, and Sans thinks again of his magic rebounding off of the dog’s own, of the remnant bringing that same reaction between two different strands of broken magic in an instant, completely at its will.

 

“…I trust you,” he says again firmly, mostly to himself. “But you’ve got to give me something to work with here. I—that place…”

 

“The void,” the remnant murmurs quietly, and the words sends an ominous kind of shiver down Sans’s spine.

 

“Is that…what you call it? The void?”

 

There’s the slightest twitch from the remnant, and when it next speaks its voice is slow, unfocused. “It’s…the place between places, between the living and the dead, between the Underground and what holds it together. It’s…”

 

It falls silent, and when Sans taps its arm, then carefully knocks his forehead up against the back of its head, it does not respond. “Hey.” It says nothing, and worry crawls into his bones. “ _Hey._ Remnant.”

 

The remnant startles, shakes its heads slightly. “I—what did you just call me?”

 

“Remnant?” Sans answers unsurely. “It’s what you said you were, in that dream. A remnant.”

 

“Oh,” the remnant says numbly. “I guess that would be right. We’re all just…remnants.”

 

“We?”

 

“The others. The other leftovers.”

 

The echo-smell of rotten petals is putrid, and hoarsely, he croaks, “There are others?”

 

“Didn’t you hear them?”

 

Sans blinks, and the memory of the hundreds of voices, whispering and crying and _screaming_ , returns to him. “That was—those were people?” he whispers, and he thinks he might be sick. The remnant jerks, suddenly scrambling out from in front of him and onto the walkway, and he jumps to his feet, reaching out and grabbing its arm. “Hey, no! Remnant! What was that?”

 

It shakes its head desperately, trembling in his hold. “I shouldn’t have said anything. They’re just echoes, there’s nothing left, not really.”

 

“But those _were_ people?”

 

The remnant looks away.

 

Dropping its arm, Sans scowls. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I can’t tell you!” it screeches, hands curling into fists and wheeling back around to him. “Don’t you get that? I’m trying to protect you!”

 

“I don’t need protecting!” he snarls.

 

“Bullshit,” it snaps, parroting his words back at him, and he flinches on instinct. “Bull _shit_ you don’t need protecting. The whole reason you’re here is because you couldn’t do this alone! Who’s going to make sure you don’t open doors you can’t handle?”

 

“If you’ve spent even half the time watching me that I think you have,” Sans says, scowling down at it. “If you _really_ know anything about me, you know I’m not alone, not anymore. I have people who can look out for me.”

 

“You think Gaster would stop you? Stop this?” the remnant hisses, words quiet but sharp as ice as it gestures around them, a wide sweeping movement that encompasses both the darkness below them and their own forms, Toby hovering unsurely between them. “You really think the man who never learned to back down from any problem he couldn’t solve would know when to draw the line?”

 

“If I’m there—if Wind, if everyone else is there—then yes! We’ll look out for each other.”

 

The remnant looks down to the ground, tiny fingers curled up in fists and shaking. “And what if the day comes when they aren’t there, anymore? What then? No one stays forever, Sans, no one.”

 

“I—“ He pauses, replays their words back in his head. “…What do you mean?” The remnant won’t look at him, and suddenly Sans feels an ice cold sliver of pure fear strike his chest. “Is something going to happen to them?”

 

“I can’t tell you,” it bites out, and Sans shakes his head, taking a desperate step forward, even as the remnant takes one back, its first retreat in his wake.

 

“What’s going to happen?” He means for it to sound authoritative, but instead his voice comes out shaky, cracked and panicked. The remnant takes another step back, arms crossed and hunched in on itself and still _not looking at him_. “Remnant, please! They’re my—they’re my _family_.” The remnant flinches visibly, and then turns on him, reclaiming its lost territory. There’s a surge of magic from it, emotional and uncontrolled, and Sans recoils.

 

“I don’t know, ok?!” it screams, the force of its words sending him back further. “I wasn’t there!” It wilts, as if that last outburst had taken everything from it, and sinks to the ground, its entire frame trembling. “I’m not—I’m not all-seeing. I’m not a god, or some powerful spirit, or whatever you think I am.” It sniffles, wiping an arm messily over its face. “I’m not anything,” it says, looking up tiredly to Sans. “Do you know how much it took, just to get here? How long it took us to figure it out? I don’t belong here, not in this place, and not in this time. I’m anchored to you, and even then all I can do is flash in and out, for seconds if I’m lucky.” It bows its head once more. “The only reason I can be here so long right now is because you entered the void, widened the connection, and you _can’t do that_. It consumes every living soul inside it, every time you step in you get closer to the edge. Next time you might not be able to get out.” It shivers. “Or the you that comes out might not be yourself anymore.”

 

Toby gives a frightened bark, as if reacting to the remnant, and Sans remembers the pull, the whispers of ownership as the flowers claimed him. He pushes it away, clings to burnt magic and citrus and fragile warmth before he fully realizes his doing so. Clings to the presence of the remnant, though he fears it for all the unknowns it promises.

 

“…I don’t understand you,” Sans admits, and he slumps, crumpling in on himself until he is sitting across from it. “I don’t understand what you want, or why I matter to you. I don’t even understand what you _are_.”

 

It looks away, breathing a deep sigh, and when it next speaks, its voice, though ever as indefinable and impossible to place, is steady. “Your mentor’s name is Gaster. Your other loved ones are Wind, Rose, Gamma, and Ficus—you refuse to give them a title, because you fear calling them by one will mean losing them. Your brother is Papyrus.”

 

Sans blinks, uncurling from himself to look at it in confusion. “What are you—I already told you I trust you, you don’t need to prove—“

 

“Shut up and listen to me,” it snaps. “Your best friends are named Alphys and Grillby, you don’t really like Undyne but you do pity her. The first human you rescued from the Ruins door was your sister. She does not have a name anymore, because of Asgore. Before he came to love you as family, Gaster used your anger to his advantage to gain the asset of your knowledge and intelligence, and you let him, because you wanted what he offered you too. You have fought and bartered your way to where you are now because of love.” It turns to him, entirely unreadable. “And while I wish you wouldn’t, love will send you to the Ruins door again. I know these things because I have been told them, not because I lived them.” The Remnant pauses, hands curling into fists in its lap. “I could not come to you then, because your sister held this world’s power, and I had no connection to her. It is only now I am able to barely manage this, and believe me, if you had not crossed into the void, I would never have approached you. I would have been content to watch, but that’s clearly not the way things were meant to go.”

 

“Remnant—“

 

“There are things that will happen that I can’t tell you,” it rushes on in a single breath, ignoring him. “Because we don’t understand the rules yet. But these things must happen, because I wouldn’t be here if they did not. I _am_ here, and so they already are promised to occur. There are—“ It chokes on its own words, shoulders curling and shuddering under a weight Sans cannot understand. “There are some things that can’t be stopped, Sans, ok? Though we wish they could, time is not that simple. We are both proof of that, and we can’t change what we are.”

 

It sighs, and then dips its head. “You asked why you matter to me? Because you do, because the you I know is not who you are now, but you are a part of him, and that is enough for me to care. I can’t save you, but if I’m lucky, I can save him.” It reaches out a hand to Toby, and he snuffles it quietly. “I’m not your enemy. I am not a hero, or a good person, and I can’t tell you everything, and that gives you good reason to suspect me, but I’m no friend of the people that hurt you.”

 

Sans studies it, trying to take in all the distortion in the static until his eyes ache, and then shakes his head slightly, reaching out to run a hand along Toby’s back. “I thought…for a while…that you might be Asgore’s. That’s why I tried so hard to find out what you were, to hunt you out. I had to know which side you fight for.”

 

Its grip tightens in Toby’s fur for a moment, but when the dog whines, it instantly relaxes, stroking apologetically. When it next speaks, its words are with the icy conviction Sans remembers feeling with his first promise to make Asgore pay imparted into the journal he’d kept of his and the human’s resets. “…I had a family, before. Asgore took that from me. He took everything I loved, and this,” it waves idly at its own glitching form, “is the price I paid for trying to protect it.”

 

“…And now you’re here.”

 

“And now I’m here,” it finishes grimly. “You want to fix the world? It isn’t possible, there’s too much that has been lost. It might be salvageable though, if enough things fall into line.”

 

“And this—“ Sans waves a hand between them. “Whatever you’re doing here, has got to do with that?”

 

It stills. “It might be. I’m not sure yet.”

 

It’s like Gaster, Sans realizes. It cares for him, for some reason, _knows_ him at least, but he is also a resource to it, for whatever it is planning, even if that just ties into another version of him. Some other Sans, down wherever the timelines take him.

 

“I need context,” it admits softly, after a moment. “I need to know what happened here.”

 

“But something _is_ going to happen?” he presses, trying to figure out what could happen that would put his _family_ in danger, something that would bring a warpath down on them.

 

Suddenly, it clicks, with a horrible swooping sensation in his stomach. “Is it Asgore?” Asgore, the gracious king of the people, who burned Gaster’s child and killed Sans’s sister, who let Wind and countless knows how many other monsters destroy themselves for his cause. “Does something go wrong with the next human, when we try to protect them?” Images, the stuff of his nightmares, pile up behind his eyes—Gaster between a human and Asgore’s trident, Wind walking into her last battle against the man who raised her. “If you tell me, I— _we_ can be better prepared. We can protect them—“

 

The remnant snorts, high and shrill, and something about the grating bitterness of it puts him on edge even as it silences him. “Those humans? They’re the worst thing that will ever happen to you, the cause of everything.”

 

The burnt magic is acrid, the citrus stings in his mouth, and when Sans goes to answer, to demand an explanation, it shakes its head.

 

“The past is not malleable—because I’m here, which means it already happened—but if I could stop anything, it’d be even the idea of those humans.”

 

“...Do they hurt people?” Sans asks quietly, and the remnant stubbornly stays silent. “I made a promise. If they are good, even remotely, I will protect them. So be honest, are they?”

 

“…One of them is,” it whispers, after a long silence, a kind of deep-seated regret and longing in its tone, and Sans nods.

 

“Then that’s enough.”

 

It sighs. “You’re a stubborn idiot. You always will be.” It shakes its head, looking back out into the blackness beneath the Core below. “Just promise me one thing, stay away from the void.”

 

“Not unless you give me a straight answer,” Sans says bluntly, its earlier words about the _others_ not forgotten. “About what’s in there. Because there is, isn’t there? That’s what Ileia found.” The remnant looks up sharply, and he squares his shoulders, meeting its indeterminable gaze head on. “I heard her, in there, before you pulled me out. I’d never even heard her voice before that but I _knew_.”

 

The remnant hisses in a sharp breath, curls its arms around its knees. “Please don’t.”

 

“Gaster said she was researching a disease,” Sans snaps, because he can still hear the tape recorder and the _screams_ in his ears and they will not leave him, not any more so than the static. “That she injected herself with extracts from a human’s soul, to try and beat it. She thought something was feeding on us, and soul augmentation was the answer. So I’ll ask again, what’s in the void, remnant?”

 

It looks to him tiredly. “Don’t you already know? Ileia is—what’s left of her, at least. Her and everyone else that were consumed.”

 

Sans stills. “…Consumed?”

 

Toby whimpers, and the remnant flinches, just slightly, at the sound. “The void exists because the Underground exists, and the Underground exists because the barrier exists. This entire place is cut off from the surface by the barrier, it is essentially its own world, built by magic, _sustained_ by magic, and magic is not passive, it is always, _always_ demanding more power to keep it going.”

 

Toby howls suddenly, a low, mournful sound, and Sans feels the remnant’s meaning slide into place with a deadly click.

 

 _“_ _Shielding takes up enormous energy,”_ Wind’s words from their training return to him, trying to impart the dangers of maintaining an indefinite shield, and for the first time he fully understands what she meant.

 

A shield is not passive, though it may look it—just as it takes magic to create it, so too it takes magic to sustain it. Its existence relies on a constant supply of power. _Constant_.

 

And what is the barrier but an enormous shield?

 

He had been wrong, he realizes with a displaced horror. The Underground does not have passive shortcuts. Just as he makes his own, actively using his power to break the foundations of space, the Underground forms its own in the recesses and hotspots of its magic, sustained by a constant supply of energy.

 

“The human witches who created the barrier were the first,” the remnant says quietly, and Sans can tell from the way it looks at him that it can see he _knows_. “They’re faint, but they’re human, so their voices are still there. They didn’t mean to, but—“ It chokes, fingers digging into its knees. “They had no choice. They did what was asked of them hoping to appease humanity and save their own kind, and all for nothing. That’s all that’s left of them now, their regret. I’ve heard it, lost somewhere in the nightmare they made. But then—“ It shudders. “Eventually even all that magic, seven witches’ whole souls, wasn’t enough to sustain the barrier, so it did what it needed to. It fed on the closest source.”

 

“…Monsters,” Sans whispers.

 

“You call it falling down, I think,” the remnant says, and Sans closes his eyes.

 

“When a seemingly healthy monster collapses,” he mumbles, almost automatically quoting the summary of the disease he remembers reading in some dusty old book of Gaster’s poked between cracked DVD cases and overflowing folders. “They enter a coma for a period of anywhere from two days to a week, as their soul gradually grows weaker, before it fades altogether, and they die. No known cure. Attributed to lack of hope, a crucial piece of a monster’s makeup, though some outlying cases are known.”

 

“The weakest are the easiest prey,” the remnant simply says.

 

Sans shudders. “…And you?”

 

“…You’ve seen for yourself,” the remnant says. “I don’t have a soul. It was—lost. My will to survive channeled my magic, and attached me to the void.”

 

“The space between the barrier and the Underground,” Sans says, and it nods jerkily.

 

“The barrier feeds on the magic of the monsters that live within its bounds, and I feed on it.” It tips its head slightly, in an acknowledgement to something not with them. “I’m not the only one.”

 

“…I still don’t understand what you are,” Sans says, shaking his head, because he can’t deal with the implications behind their words, of the lives lost—oh God, the lives they still stand to lose—he just _can’t_ , and so he attaches himself desperately to the easier answer. Questions first, panic later.

 

“Nothing,” it says almost automatically. “Just something with too much power and not enough common sense to die.” It shivers, and its next words come out halting, unsteady and unsure. “Can I…what do I look like, to you?”

 

Sans looks to it, to the impossible shifting and stuttering and glitching that makes up its figure, stealing from his memory the image of it every time he thinks he might begin to capture it. “Like static,” he admits softly. “Like memory undone. Every time I think I know, I forget.”

 

It shifts, looking down at its own hands. “That’s probably for the best.” There’s a shiver around them, a quaking that fuzzes in and out and leaves the buzz of the void and the promise of the emptiness nibbling at the edges of Sans’s being. Toby whines, turning and burying his head in Sans’s side, and when Sans looks to the remnant, it’s form is even more lost on him than before, slowly falling apart and fading.

 

“I’m out of time,” it says, and something in its voice is full of pain. “I have to go.” It stands, and Sans staggers to his feet automatically after it, cradling Toby to his chest.

 

“Wait!” he shouts, and even with its slowly dissolving form, Sans knows its eyes are on him. “What’s your name?”

 

It stills. “I don’t have one,” it says simply. “It was taken.”

 

“You must have something you call yourself,” Sans presses.

 

“I…” It hesitates, and then steps forward. Cool hands, small and delicate, touch the sides of his face, and Sans allows it to bow his skull, mimic the kiss to his forehead it gave him on their first meeting. It rings of grief, an act passed down from someone lost it’s desperately trying to mimic. “It doesn’t matter. Just forget about this, all of it. Go home and be with your family. Please. _Please_.” It passes one shaky hand over the arc of his skull, and then it’s gone, the last echo of the howl of the void fading out as the stillness of the Core returns, machinery slowly humming as it begins to come to life in the waking of early dawn.

 

Sans lifts an arm, moves his hand over his head in a mimicry of the Remnant’s own path, and then looks down to Toby, before resettling his dog in his arms, and heading out the way he came.

 

He doesn’t bother looking back, there’s nothing to see.

 

What he was chasing is long gone.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Sans takes the long way down through Hotland back to the labs.

 

He considers the shortcut, but the mere idea of going through that again leaves him on edge, and he decides he’s had more than enough shadowy magic bullshit for one day. Given Toby doesn’t protest in his arms when he walks by, he takes that to mean the dog agrees.

 

He follows the way back down through Hotland, hopping on and off elevators and wandering aimlessly through quiet levels of smoothed-over rock pathways, until he reaches the entrance to the Hotland lab extension. He hovers in front of the building, suddenly unsure of himself, as if he might step in and instantly be confronted with a worrying, _knowing_ Gaster, until an echo of sound, water flowing slowly in a cavern, catches his attention.

 

It calls to him in the same way the voices of the void did, and he doesn’t know why, but he follows it, trusting subconsciously in Toby’s lack of alertness to mean he isn’t walking towards a threat. As he steps into the river-way cavern, the Riverperson, standing quietly next to its boat, turns and looks to him, silently standing.

 

Waiting for him.

 

Swallowing nervously, he approaches it, clutching Toby tighter, and coming to a stop beside it at the river’s edge. He looks down into the water, cool blue reflecting his own haggard expression back at him, exhaustion dripping from every inch of his frame, and when he speaks, his voice is rough and hoarse.

 

“Is there somewhere I need to go?”

 

The Riverperson hums a quiet, neutral note, in tune with the lullaby, and he shivers.

 

“Not yet.”

 

The water looks deep, he decides, as if he could fall forward and sink into it, never to be seen again, just another lost soul to the Underground’s depths.

 

“…Can I believe it, what it says?” he asks bluntly, because he _knows._ Knew from the minute he saw it that this was what it was here for. The all-seeing eyes of the Underground that found even the pieces not supposed to be there.

 

“Castleborn conceals, but they do not lie,” the Riverperson says, placidly calm. “Flowerborn waits, they will bide their time. Each father’s influence cannot be denied—you truly are three of a kind.” It looks to him then, fathomless depths reflected in its hood. “Four more years, Riverborn.”

 

“Till what?” he croaks, frustrated and so damn _tired_ , and the Riverperson simply gazes at him, even more unreadable than the remnant.

 

“Until the fall—until the good Doctor speaks no more, and time’s new mistress comes through the door.”

 

It shuffles, and Sans knows dismissal when he sees it, moving out of the way as it steps onto its boat, giving it a tight nod as it looks to him, before turning and making his way back to his home to the sounds of the Riverperson’s hum as it sets off across the water.

 

…Four more years, then.

 

He’ll be ready.

 

 

xxx

 

 

When morning arrives, it finds Sans back in the labs, teetering on his toes at the top of a stool stolen from one of the workbenches and piled high with heavy books as a kind of makeshift ladder, arms craning as he scribbles notes and equations into the margins of the whiteboard he’d commandeered. Once the last bit of space has been filled out, he leans back as far as he can without falling off, studying the mess of his thoughts splayed out across the board for all to see, and nods shakily.

 

After he’d returned home, it had been a flurry of activity he could not quite control, breaking open yet more of Gaster’s file cabinets until he’d found the rest of Ileia’s old research, spread it out in a giant pile on the floor of the lab room in a mosaic that became intermingled with his and Gaster’s own research notes, as well as Gaster’s human’s.

 

He’d jumped between their disparate handwritings without pause, shuffling papers and making connections he’d never thought to before, until—combined with the newfound knowledge the remnant had given him—he saw it.

 

Sighing, he slips down from his precarious perch, standing in one of the clear spots on the ground. The edge of his sneaker brushes up against one of the papers scattered everywhere, and he glances down, feeling a small lurch in his stomach when his eye catches Ileia’s theories on soul augmentation once more.

 

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, he finally calls his magic, bringing his flickering soul into existence in front of him, and watching it carefully. He’d understood a question long held, the minute he saw Toby’s soul, recognizes the breaks and repairs in it, and yet all that’s left him with is more he does not understand.

 

 _Riverborn,_ the reminder chases at him.

 

…And he’s not the only one who carries a title like that, he now knows.

 

“You said it yourself,” he says quietly, tiredly, even knowing that it likely cannot hear him, the prickling edges on his consciousness that signify its presence missing. “We can’t change what we are, can we?”

 

The crackling, inverted heart, made up of all off-whites and muted grey-blues stands before him, and he dismisses it.

 

He may never know what he is, _why_ he is, but he has chosen _who_ he is, in spite of his lack of origins or memories before Waterfall, and that must be enough.

 

“Sans Seraph,” he whispers to himself, the first time he has given voice to the patronymic bestowed on him by Gaster. “Anomaly.”

 

Toby barks.

 

There comes the rustling of sound from the other end of the floor as someone rises for the day, loud yawns and long steps pattering down the hallway, until they come to a stop, right about where the doorway to Gaster’s office would be, unmoving for several seconds.

 

He waits.

 

“SANS!” Gaster bellows, flying into the workroom in his ratty dressing down and dog slippers, tight-lipped and somehow paler even against his normally near-white skin. He’s trembling, with what Sans isn’t sure. Maybe anger, based off his balled up hands, or fear, judging by his wide, panicked eyes.

 

Clearly, Gaster wasn’t expecting this, and can’t seem to decide between his betrayal at Sans breaking into his files, or his horror at what he might have found there. Whatever it is he plans to say, to do, dies off when he properly catches sight of Sans, surrounded by the scattered research, and screeches to a halt, mouth gaping and hands fluttering loosely for a moment, before he manages to choke out. “You—what are you—”

 

“I think I know how to break the barrier,” Sans announces, and Gaster’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

 

“I— _what?_ ”

 

“Ileia was on to something,” Sans continues, and something complicated and pained crosses Gaster’s face.

 

“You know about…”

 

“Yes.”

 

Gaster wilts, his tall figure shrinking as he wraps his arms around himself in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. “I didn’t—you were never supposed to know about her. About what I’d done.” He closes his eyes. “…God dammit Sans, I thought you _trusted_ me.”

 

“I do,” Sans admits softly, and Gaster looks up. “I trust you with my life—with my brother’s too, and that’s a lot more important to me than my own. I trust you with my future. I trust your plans and that you’d never intentionally hurt me.” He shrugs. “I just don’t trust you to tell me the truth.”

 

“ _Why?_ ” Gaster rasps out, voice broken.

 

“Because you’re a good man,” Sans says. “And you want to protect the people you love, at any cost. That’s why you won’t tell Wind or the others about your plans, about you being willing to die if it takes down Asgore with you, because it would hurt them.”

 

“Sans…”

 

“You hide things from people, because you love them. You wanted to protect me, so you were never going to tell me on my own. I had to find the answers for myself.”

 

Gaster bows his head. “…I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re still so young. You already deal with so much more than any person should have to. I just wanted to keep what innocence you had left intact.

 

“I was never innocent, Gaster,” Sans says gently. “Never was going to be. There just…isn’t enough time.”

 

Four years.

 

It rings in his head now, definite and looming.

 

“…I want to say I’m sorry,” Sans continues. “For going behind your back like that, and I guess I kind of am, because I knew doing it would hurt you, but I’d also do it again.”

 

He’s tired. God, he is so tired, and if he could, the idea of running away from it all, not seeking out the truth and contenting himself to random experiments and safety within the walls of the lab, away from its basements of secrets, does have some appeal.

 

But he also knows who he is. He will not stop looking for answers, he _can’t_. That’s why he agreed to help Gaster in the first place, after the human. Why he bartered with the Tems and broke into Gaster’s office and confronted the remnant. No matter how many times he tries to tell himself to walk away from it all, he always comes back.

 

Because if they don’t do it, him and Gaster, nobody else will. More people will keep dying, both monsters and humans.

 

“Ok,” Gaster breathes deep, nods his head. “Ok. Show me what you’ve got, kid.”

 

Sans’s mouth quirks, not quite a grin, but something close, and turns back to his whiteboard. “Ileia thought her illness wasn’t natural, and she was right. Monsters don’t fall down for no reason, the barrier takes them. It’s _active magic_ , and it needs a steady supply. When it ran out of human magic, it started feeding on monsters’.”

 

Gaster picks his way across the papers, coming to a stop beside him, peering up at the whiteboard critically. “That’s what we always feared, but we could never prove it.” Grief hangs heavy in his eyes. “And when she injected herself…we found out the hard way that whatever it is that keeps humans going, monsters can’t contain it. Just not enough physical matter there, I guess.”

 

“There’s more,” Sans says, and when Gaster looks to him, he hesitates. “I found something, last night. An active shortcut, like the ones I can create from my magic, coming from the Underground itself.”

 

“…But how can it do that?” Gaster asks, eyebrows scrunched together, and Sans shrugs hopelessly.

 

“It could have something to do with the way it’s sustained, or that it was first formed by human magic, I don’t know. I don’t even really know how _I_ do it. But—” He takes a deep breath, steadies himself. “It is possible, for whatever reason. Pockets of the Underground can collapse space, so why wouldn’t it be possible to control those pockets, dictate where they form ourselves.” He pauses, then presses on. “Gaster, if space, why not _time?_ ”

 

Gaster’s eyes widen.

 

“There’s this thing called the void,” Sans rushes on, his words tripping out over themselves in a jumbled mess. “It’s a contained pocket, within the Underground, and through it time is malleable. Not _just_ what the humans could do. It’s singular pieces, singular variables, folding time around themselves the same way I do space.”

 

“Sweet Jesus…” Gaster lifts a shaky hand, brushes it over the scrawled equations in front of them, and then wheels around to face Sans, his whole form taut. “You’re sure?”

 

Sans nods, jerky and uncoordinated. Gaster looks just as overwhelmed as has felt since yesterday, since the Tems whispered the first promise of the truth in his ears.

 

“Your human was _right_ ,” he says. “The timelines are the answer, just not the way she was thinking. If we can isolate the barrier, if we can make it its own pocket, we can cut it off from the energy supplying it.” He sucks in a breath. “And we could fold time around it, back to before it even existed, without affecting any of us at all.”

 

“Wait, wait. Just—“ Gaster retracts his hand, shaking his head. “How do you know all this? You can’t tell me you got this from just some old research notes.”

 

Honesty, Sans reminds himself, closing his eyes. Just as with time, they do not have the luxury of secrets anymore.

 

“Because,” he says, slow but steady. “Those variables? I found one.” He opens his eyes, looks to meet Gaster’s own. “I call it— _them_ —I call them Remnant. I don’t know who the hell they are, really, or what they ultimately want, but I am sure they weren’t lying.”

 

Omitting, hiding, but _not_ lying.

 

Something is coming, and they must beat whatever it is to the finish line.

 

“And I call this…” He waves an arm to the answer in front of them, hesitates. Gaster has a long-held tradition of naming his creations, and he’d hoped if he does the same, the enormity of it will feel less so. “This is Princess.”

 

The one thing he hadn’t been able to stop himself from overhearing, when working through Gaster’s tapes—a nickname for a little girl long gone.

 

Gaster chokes, then swallows roughly, and when his hand touches Sans’s shoulder, it is warm.

 

“…That’s a damn good name, kid.” He blinks, once, twice, and Sans pretends not to notice when he lifts a hand and wipes discretely at his eyes, before clapping his hands together loudly.

 

When Gaster next speaks, his words are steady and commanding—the voice of the Royal Scientist.

 

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

 

And the scientist’s assistant obeys.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Longer "yeah I know I was gone 10 months" note here! I realize a lot of you were probably disappointed when I pretty much vanished, and I apologize for that. Without going into detail I had...a rough start to last year that culminated in me pulling out of a relationship that was no longer remotely healthy for me, and then having to deal with the both frustratingly public and personal aftermath. It killed my creative spirit for a long time, particularly towards this story, much as I am loathe to admit it, and it took me quite a while to re-find it. I had to spend some time just for myself coming to terms with some things, and working on getting both my personal and academic life back on track. I'm in...a significantly better place as of February this year than I was in February of last year, or even the year before that, and I'm both a much happier person and a happier creator.
> 
> I _want_ to come back to this fic full force. I _want_ to see it to its end because it's both a story and a writing journey that has and continues to have a deep effect on me, and I hope to meet that wish. 
> 
> Due to a Big Bang event I'm participating in for another fandom that ends in early April, I'm unsure of when the next update will come. It may not be till after then.
> 
> But I promise you, it will come.
> 
> I've got a lot more story to tell. 
> 
> (And Remnant has a lot more to yet watch.) 
> 
>  
> 
> As always, feel free to come and talk to me over on tumblr [here](http://pastel-clark.tumblr.com/) about Sans, Undertale, the Fallen Children, or any number of things.
> 
> Or! Check out the [official Not As Simple content blog](http://fallendownfallenback.tumblr.com/), for all things Not As Simple!


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